Bloodline
by Sareth-the-lost-one
Summary: He was a killer, he became a businessman - now he wants his kidnapped family back! Pik van Cleaf against Chance Boudreaux in a last stand. Sequel to "Dark Targets". Rating for language and violence
1. Shadows from the Past

**(Sequel to "Dark Targets" - Disclaimer: Original movie idea Hard Target from John Woo. Sadly, I do not own anything except my ideas^^)**

**INTRO**

**=== Date: 200****7 / USA / New Orleans / Somewhere in the 'no-go'-area ===**

Half of the blocks of the public housing were already torn down. The government had grabbed the situation after the destructions by the storm to 'clean the area' and relocate some of its unwanted inhabitants. The ones that rested were even more desperate and angry than before and all sorts of crime flourished in the dirty streets. Rarely, a white face was seen here; therefore Chance Boudreaux got some attention while walking down the street to his destination, a little diner. The man he wanted to meet there was already waiting – or better, he saw Boudreaux and was about to leave the next moment.

"Ey, wait Al! Parker sent me, I'm –"

"I know who you are." The man in the shabby suit made a denying gesture. "And I have no work for you!"

"But he said-"

"Fuck you, man! I told you, I have no work! I try to hold my business clean, do you understand? Don't wanna any ex-cons in there!"

"It was self defense and a damned illegal-"

"Shut up!" From behind, two other men appeared; ready to step in on Al's behalf. "It's always self defense and you guys are always innocent, I know this shit! Don't make fuzz about it, just move your ass outta here, before I kick you!"

One of the men let a switchblade shine. Boudreaux would've liked to start a little fight, and he was angry enough to do so. However, this would've led him nowhere, concerning the work he was out for. He left without looking back.

**=== Later in New Orleans ===**

Boudreaux sat in an abandoned house with broken windows and tried to think what to do next. He needed work desperately, a place to stay, something to eat…He was a fighter, he would not end homeless in the streets, this he promised himself! It would not be the first time it looked bad for him, there was always a way… He threw his cold cigarette butt away and stared through the window shards. A sound let him snap to attention. He had no weapon, but a lot of wooden planks, metal struts and other useful stuff lay around from the crumbled roof. His grip closed around a rod and he waited.

Shortly after, a middle aged man entered the room. Nothing special was about him, and he posed no obvious threat. Chance Boudreaux could discern this by first sight. He would easily break the neck of this sort of geeks…

The stranger stepped closer. "No need to attack ME," he assured and opened his hands. "I'm unarmed and here to offer you a deal…"

"Piss off!" He was sure this guy had something to do with illegal things, from which he had enough!

"So you are happy with your life?" The other man hold a pack of Luckies out for him and Chance took one.

"I had my share of bullshit, believe me!"

"Life was not very fair to you…"

"Do you want to preach or what?! I'm not a type for hanging around in churches! Go and gas elsewhere!"

"Is this the man who made an attack on the jury during his trial?! What a shame…" His words ended in a squeezing sound, because Chance had closed his hands around his neck. "Stop I said, you shit face! Leave me alone!" He let him go and the stranger stumbled backwards against a garbage can and fell.

"Obviously…" he coughed and struggled to his feet again, "…it's quite right that you sit here in the crap, and Van Cleaf is whoring around on his yacht, bathing in Champaign and laughs his ass off about the US-justice!"

Boudreaux frowned. "Van Cleaf is dead. Killed this son of a bitch 15 years ago!"

"O he looks quite alive on these ones, don't you agree?" He shoved some photographs under his nose. "I follow this bastard for 8 years now!"

"So why don't you go to the FBI and get the reward?!"

"I don't work for the government anymore", the other man said. "Listen, I know Van Cleaf is alive and he is rich. The account where all this money went from the hunts this Fouchon initiated, has never been located. But…", the stranger smirked, "I bet Van Cleaf knows…"

**=== Coast of Argentina near Fireland ===**

A beautiful sunset enrobed the expensive yacht, which lay a little outside of the small harbor, peacefully. The rebellious spirit who had stirred a lot of unruliness and fight during the last days of the trip down here had left the ship. He walked alongside his father now, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked as if the whole world had punished him with everything.

"Why I do always have to travel around with lil' kiddies and my sisters! I'm grown up, for fuck's sake! I'm fourteen, Dad!"

"Stop swearing. You know your mother hates this!"

"You do it!"

"She hates it just as well when I do it! - Don't scuffle behind me like an old man, Gerrit!"

"I'm not in the mood for lil' kiddie's pathfinder games!" The boy spit his chewing gum out. "Why couldn't I stay with Lucas? We were preparing for a football match! Shit! I don't wanna be pushed around any longer!" The dark eyes of the boy burned, he was ready to step into the ring against his father today.

"So you think you are ready to shape your own life, right?"

"At least old enough to spent my vacations ALONE, not like a toddler doing …" He prodded his feet into the dusty ground. "…Doing wilderness exploring or such boring stuff!"

Pik van Cleaf rested and turned around to face his son, who scowled at him. "You are more interested in dealing drugs from Lucas' brother on the schoolyard, am I right?"

Now the boy stopped as well and stared at his father. "You… KNOW about this? I… mean…"

"Of course I know. What were you thinking, Gerrit? It cost me a little fortune to calm your principal and the local police!"

"It was… nothing, Dad. Lucas brought it up… "

"It was NOT nothing!"

The rebellion was back in the boy, anxious about the own weakness this time. He had thought the adventure with the Crack had not been noticed, certainly not by his father! "So what's the point?" Gerrit shouted. "It was just a small package! I didn't KILL anyone like YOU did!" The boy continued, as if he would become strong and independent only by throwing the truth in his father's face. "Did YOU think I did not know this? I know everything! I know it for two years! You killed people for fun, and that's why we are running and never stay longer than half a year in one spot! You are on the international wanted-persons-list! So stop telling me what I have to DO! I can do what you did, fucking hell!"

He smashed his backpack on the ground and turned on the way they had come.

Pik was at his side the next moment. He grabbed him at the collar and held him firmly. "Listen to me, Gerrit. Very carefully! You are my son, and I will be damned, if I let you even set a foot on the path I walked! – Now, take your backpack."

**=== On the yacht ===**

Rosa shut the door of the oven and adjusted the timer for the chicken soufflé she was cooking. Behind her, the six-year-old Samuel sat on the bench, watching her and posing out-of-the-blue-questions about everything from time to time. Right now, he wanted to know if the astronauts in the space ships had cooking ovens, too. _Heavens! What sparkles in the mind of this kid,_ Rosa thought amused. "Yes, I think so. Why not?"

"But-" Samuel started again.

However, he could not finish his question, because his baby-brother Maartie began to cry in his basket near the window. Rosa looked after her youngest child. The little one worried her. He was sick – nothing fatal, as long as she had the meds within reach in case something happened. She did not get the dark cloud out of her mind that it was her fault – despite she knew this was not the case. Perhaps she should not have conceived a child at nearly 40? But she always wanted a huge family, like her own back in Puerto Rico. She liked kids, she savored every day of a pregnancy, looking forward to the day she could hold another tiny wonder in her arms. And Pik was a wonderful lover; she was as crazy for him as fifteen years ago in Tampico. But little Maartie… Now this would be her last child, in any case, because the doctors had said the risk was great the next one would be sick, too. It was only a very very happy coincidence that all the others were healthy.

For now it seemed nothing was wrong except the baby was hungry! Rosa smiled and began preparing the food for the little one.

**FIRST CHAPTER "You can't kill your past"**

My name is Pik van Cleaf. I was a hunter, a killer. I thought this was over forever. I was wrong… You can't kill your past. Someday... it will stand right behind you and point a gun at you.

**=== Fireland / two weeks later ===**

I was in Fireland with Gerrit for nearly two weeks now, surrounded by barely more than wind-battered black rocks and thick strong grass. The sky lay above us heavy and cloudy. I chased my son through a rough training, to show him this was not what he wanted. He had inherited a great part of me, and this part was hungry for a challenge, hungry to proof itself against all odds. He was ready to destroy just to test his strength, headstrong and proud. Yes, he was much like me, at this age… But he had something of Rosa, too. This made me confident I could be strong enough to catch him before he became addicted to the kill-thrill like me. Life had so many other challenges worth a try! If he chose my path, he would be blind for anything else. Gerrit needed a strong hand – my parents had failed in this; only sent the obviously devil-spirited teen I was then out of their sight. I would not accept failure with MY son! Fortunately, I was prepared for this, and I had time for him, unlike many other fathers….

Gerrit showed up, out of breath, with sweat-covered face, but a proud grin on his lips.

I looked at my timer. "You are 15 minutes too late", was all I said.

His face fell. "But – I made a kill! He lifted the meager pigeon."

"Throw it away, so no predators will bother us, and then go to sleep. It's nearly sunset."

"WHAT? Don't we prepare it for eating?!"

"You are too late, I said. A hunter is bound by time; a KILLER is even more. And you have failed. Life is just that way."

"It's NOT FAIR!" my son shouted.

"I never said that. But you said you are grown up; you were ready to face life. Do what I did. So face it! I assure you, an empty stomach and disappointment are two of the best things you will encounter in this business, if you fail. More likely you end up in a prison cell or shot and crippled or dead!" I did not raise my voice, this was not necessary. Gerrit was not the one to argue now; he thought himself strong and wanted to prove it – he would have nearly starved to do so. He turned with the dead bird in his hands and stepped up to the next rock to throw it away from there. Some minutes later I heard his voice. "Dad? … DAD!"

It was something in this call, something completely unexpected frightened, that I jumped up immediately, gun in my hand. Gerrit stood there, grey-pale, and stared down to the coastline in shock. When I followed his gaze, I discovered our yacht, with flames and smoke rising from there, where the bridge had been. This sight felt worse than any near-death-shot I had got in my life so far. I heard me whisper "O no…" and then the metallic sound of my weapon falling from my hand on the rock beneath my feet.

"Dad?"

"To the car! Hurry!" I seized Gerrit's arm and we ran down to the Landrover together.

Destiny didn't forget the people who messed with her, never. Was it now my turn to pay?


	2. Killers' Philosophy

**=== Fireland ===**

Gerrit and I reached our yacht more than half an hour later, one of the worst distances I ever had to cross! I could not climb up from our boat as fast as I wanted, because of my leg; I really hated this, for the first time since I got this damned injury 15 years ago! Finally on the deck, I nearly stumbled over the corpse of one of my crewmen. Shot. So the option this could've been an accident, was out of question. This had been an attack! Pirates, I mused… I called after Rosa and my other children, however got no answer. I turned around and shouted in Gerrit's direction: "Hide over there and stay put!" I didn't bother to wait for his answer, hoping he would have grasped the sincerity of this situation by his own. I hurried to the bridge. Smoke vented out and let me cough. It smelled after burned plastic and hot metal. In the door lay the skipper and next to him one of the fucking attackers, shot too. Obviously Sergei, ex-Russian military whom I had hired as navigator, had put up a good fight. I stepped over the bodies, reaching out for the extinguisher. They had fired on the panels and destroyed all electronic equipment, in consequence some of the wall panels, the wooden floor and the adjacent storage room had caught fire. The flames on the bridge were under control soon, but the storage area was another subject. There were a lot of flammable substances. I threw my jacket away, grabbed the second extinguisher and kicked the door. The heat was immense. For a moment, I could only wince back. Then I raised my left arm to protect my face a bit and operated the extinguisher single-handed, until I had won some ground.

…

The bridge area cleared, I ran in the direction of our living quarters. On the way I encountered the rest of my crew dead as well. Still there was no sign of my wife and children, though. This let me hope, even if another bad feeling grew inside me. My gun at the ready, I entered the kitchen. Traces of blood were on the floor and on the table; Maartie's blue blanket crumpled in a corner. Smashed dishes with rests of food, in between a toy car. Looking around I discovered a machine-written paper, nailed on the wall with a knife.

I HAVE YOUR FAMILY – THEY WILL SUFFER IF YOU DON'T COMPLY – CONTACT ME IN PUERTO SORO, CALLE CATERINA 15 IN 2 DAYS.

I stared at the paper.

Something clicked as if a switch had been flipped inside me. … And everything was back, everything I once was. The past years extinguished like the flames above in the bridge. My family had been kidnapped. The heart I really had believed to be in my chest the past years, was ripped apart and shattered.

I stared at the paper.

"Whoever you are – you are a dead man", I promised towards the ultimatum at the wall. No one would harm my family and get away alive!

…

A low scratching sound made me advance through the hatch down in the apartment below. In front of the barrel of my gun, I discovered a frightened, injured man. He was bleeding from a wound in his right shoulder. Perhaps Rosa had incapacitated him in trying to defend the family, and his comrades had left thinking him dead. Excellent!

Judging from his reaction, the bastard knew who I was. "Please… I didn't want… I was just-" The words ended in a gurgling, coughing sound, when I hit him. "Ah… kill me… just kill me…" he whimpered.

"Not yet." I dragged him upwards and pushed him against the glass front of the sideboard. The glass shattered and more blood decorated his cloths. "Whereto did they bring my wife and children? Answer me!" I shoved him back into the shards. "Answer and you'll have a quick death!"

"I.. I… ah… please… don't know… please…stop…"

"You know what I hate?" I pressed him firmer into the glass. "Whining scum like you! – Where is my family? And who is behind this?" He blacked out. But I wouldn't allow him to sneak away that easily! A moment later, I had emptied a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen over him, and then kicked him awake.

"Hello, old friend. Nice to meet again, right? You know what this smell is? And you recognize this one too?" I tossed my lighter in the air and caught it again. "I can let you suffer until you go to fucking hell! Believe me; your last moments will be more painful than you ever have thought possible!"

"You… can't do this, man!" He tried to crawl away panicking.

I held him back with a fast kick and switched the lighter. "What should me hinder? Compassion perhaps?"

"Please…nonono…"

"Stop whining. I might become a little nervous… It was a rough day, you know. I might let it fall just by accident. Of course I might feel better, if you tell me what I want to know…" I lowered my hand with the lighter until it was dangerously close.

"Thomas Harrington…" the man gasped now. "The name of the guy… who sent us… Thomas Harrington!"

I had never heard of this name, but this didn't matter. Perhaps a bounty hunter … "Where is my family?"

"In…Puerto Soro… more I do not know, please… Heard…Harrington speak of… of some railway depot…"

I finished his misery with a shot through his forehead.

**=== Later on the yacht ===**

My son looked incredulous at the green gold-printed passport in his hands, and eventually opened it. "George Jacobsen? What's that?"

"Your name. Don't look that surprised, Gerrit. You knew of the business I was involved in, you said. I had to make some arrangements for you and the others in case someday something happens to me." _I never thought it possible they would get my family first…_ I closed the little safe with the different passports and other ID-cards and put it back in the hidden compartment. "…And this is the address you will contact after your arrival," I continued, handing him a paper.

"But that's South Africa! It's out in the sticks! I don't know anyone there!

"It's the only contact I have and I can trust."

"I don't even speak well enough this language, Dad!"

"It's not my fault you were lazy in your lessons. You will have time to catch up a bit the following weeks, until you show up officially."

Gerrit obviously didn't know how to react and vented his anger in throwing the passport down on the ground. "I'm fourteen! I'm not a stupid child!"

"Then stop acting like one." I turned my attention to the interior of the other compartment in the floor I had just opened. It held an assortment of different firearms, my special collection.

Gerrit stared wide-eyed. "Dad! Let's go and free them! With this stuff we'll ice the kidnappers, no problem! Just as-"

I looked at him again and finished: "You'll do JUST AS I said, Gerrit."

"But I can help you! I shoot pretty well, you taught me!"

"Yes, but not well enough!" I checked the first rifle. It was in perfect condition, as expected.

"This is not a little 'cops-and-robbers'-play. I will not discuss this with you. I bring you to Ushuaia, and you'll take the plane to Kapstadt tomorrow. I want you out of harm's way."

Some minutes passed in silence, only the faint metallic sound from the weapons-check could be heard. My son stood opposite to me at the wall and seemed to ponder if he should go in open confrontation with me. Behind his 'cool-guy'-façade, he was very uncertain and frightened, exactly a fourteen-year-old child and not a man like he thought to be. I hoped it could stay that way … but I was not sure. If things went wrong, Gerrit's childhood days were over much sooner than planned.

…

Later the night we drove over the rocky and pitch black road leading alongside the coast. Gerrit sat next to me and was still very silent, tired and terrified. Again and again he took the passport and the other papers I gave him out of his little backpack and browsed in them as if to memorize everything. "Do you think they'll kill Ma and the others?" he asked suddenly.

"They won't go that far," I answered.

"You lie."

The words came plain and despising; I hadn't anything to put on the scale against. "Of course I lied," I answered, burying every attempt to make it easier for him. "What you would've said to your son?"

"Don't know! The fucking truth!" He shouted again. His anger had only gathered for the eruption, it seemed.

Hell, what had I expected?! He was my son – and I had hated it just as much being pampered with lies when I was at his age!

"You dump me off in a plane to people I never have seen before! And what if you don't cope with these kidnappers? What if they kill Ma and Teresa and Maria and Samuel and Maartie and EVEN YOU?! I don't wanna be all alone and not even know what happens to all of you! Without DOING ANYTHING! Perhaps sitting in a school?!"

"Gerrit!"

"Why did you get kids anyway?! You think SHIT of us! Only think after yourself!"

"Gerrit, it's enough!" With a harsh turn, I parked our Landrover at the side of the road.

"You will listen now, listen to the truth, because I have no time to repeat myself! Clear? – Perhaps I should've stayed away from socializing and family-business. But the term to muse about this subject is gone. I HAVE a family and you are a part of it! I do not know what happens the next hours or days. I do not know who my opponents are, how well they are equipped and what they want. They could want a lot of things, among them plain and simply to hurt people. They could kill one of your sisters or brothers just to have a little fun in their boring existence. Believe me; I KNOW men are capable of doing this! Perhaps they are already dead. But until I know for sure, I'll try everything to get them free alive! I'm well armed, and I kept up my training during the last years. I'm still a very good sharpshooter. However… they'll perhaps easily outmatch me in hand to hand combat, because of this damned leg. So, my chances to survive are perhaps 70 to 40. It does look bad, but I had worst scenarios! And they WILL have to put something in motion to stop me, they will... "

I sensed the cold determination filling me. I looked into my son's eyes. "I can't promise you anything, Gerrit. But I need you to trust me. And I need to be able to trust you, that you won't do anything stupid!"

He nodded very reluctant and slowly, but said nothing. I embraced him for a moment, and surprisingly, my rebellious son let it happen without complaining about "lil' kid's stuff".

**=== Meanwhile / Puerto Soro ===**

Chance Boudreaux gazed over the pier and threw his empty beer can away. There was trash everywhere, anyway. Harrington and the others weren't back yet with their bounty. He didn't trust this man. He was a slimy, greedy asshole, expelled from his job in the police because of some fraud committed with internal funds. Well, Chances opinion of the police was not very high! What said the judge during his trial? _Why you haven't let the police handle the situation, Mr. Boudreaux,_ he remembered, and: _We are not in the Wild-West anymore, in case you haven't noticed. The time for self-justice is over. Here we have law and order._

He spit on the ground. Law and order?! Fucking bullshit! Where the police had been while these hunters shot on homeless people like rabbits?! And the judge had turned out to be one of Emile Fouchon's friends, who couldn't believe this aristocratic man was a cold-blooded killer… Ha, law and order! Greatest bullshit ever!

But now he was here… to put things right… a little at least…

It had been on an amateur holiday video filmed in Hongkong, where Harrington had discovered Van Cleaf's face first, 8 years ago. From then on he had glued at him like some mad stalker, spending hours searching and watching youtube stuff and made phone calls to local people all around the world. Until he thought to have sufficient proof to send someone after him for closer surveillance. This went wrong. The man had disappeared, either silenced by a bullet from Van Cleaf, or because he simply had decided to have a good life with Harringtons money instead of chasing a high-prized killer on the run! Whatever the case might have been – Harrington stole money, lost his job and landed on the street. But his determination only grew stronger; it was getting close to an obsession…

Why did Harrington chose him into his team, Boudreaux pondered again. The question bothered him. The other man was certainly not of the "lets-give-the-poor-ex-con-a-new-chance"- Charity-folks! Ok, he might still be a good fighter; he had won some unofficial kickboxing-contests in the jail… But there were a lot of eager younger fighters on the streets these days! Boudreaux suppressed the thought like before. It shouldn't matter.

As long as he got an opportunity to finally floor this bastard Van Cleaf! A cruel killer was one thing – Chance had met some of them in jail, and the judge at his trial thought HIM to be one. But a man who had murdered with such a happy smile… NO, this was mad, freaky, disgusting! He missed the right word.

_How the fuck Van Cleaf COULD survive?!__ I fired at least seven shots on him from close distance!!! No one can survive that!_

Noise from the pier let Boudreaux wake up from these musings. It looked as if Harrington and the others were back! Fine! He stood up, took the flashlight and walked towards them. It were a lot more persons, he discerned by now, and the voices – children?! Shortly after, the light of his lamp flooded into the ones of Harringtons men. And in between them, it showed the figure of a woman with a baby in her arms, two obviously frightened girls and another child, perhaps six or seven years old.

"What's this?" Chance asked, and couldn't hide his anger very well. "Thought you'll get Van Cleaf and not a kindergarten!"

"Slight change of plan. – SHUT UP!" Harrington grabbed the older of the girls at her hair. "Or I give you a real reason to cry!"

"Leave her alone!" the woman hissed and got hit herself, before Harrington turned his attention to Boudreaux again. "Van Cleaf wasn't there. So we took his whore instead. Do you have a problem or what?"

"Thought you had his detailed schedule?!"

"Am I on trial here?! Just move your ass and help me with these!"

**=== Next Day / Ushuaia Airport ===**

I had accompanied Gerrit to the check-in counter, waited if everything went along smoothly with his faked passport. Then I walked away without another word – what could have been said anyway? 'Have a nice trip'?! I thought to sense his glance in my back and piercing me. Of course this was an imagination. I did not turn around. I did not dare to do it, because my eyes burned. I realized how tired I was; we had been on the road the whole night. How tired and how close to loose my composure and give a pitiful display of weakness. This must not happen! I walked faster, out of the crowd, out of the hall. Outside I began feeling a little better. I leaned against one of the concrete pillars of the entrance hall and inhaled the cold air.

… "Mister? Do you feel alright?"

I startled and my hand was up in an instant, there where I had my gun under the coat. Only then I recognized a man from the Airport service personnel. "I'm fine," I answered. Yes, no doubt, I had to give an opposite impression right now! Contempt against myself swept up in me. _What have you become? A soft, whiny, weak old man! Feeling lonely without your wife and kiddies! You thought to have forgotten nothing?! Oh you HAVE! And if you do not remember quickly, your family will pay the price..._

I straightened and peeled away from the pillar. Emotion was something a man like me should not have, not too much, and certainly not under these circumstances. I repeated this the way back to the car and into the town. I waited for the words to form an armor around my mind.


	3. Counterstrike

**=== Puerto Soro ===**

I walked down the street and was sure already being watched. It didn't bother me – these guys wanted something from me which they would not get if they killed me right now! I felt strange. A hunter out on a deadly race again; or rather a prey searching its way of escape through a closing circle? I mused about the words Gerrit had shouted at me yesterday. Had my son been right? Nearing the destination I was supposed to reach I admitted that this was the case. I had killed people for money and for fun – more for fun, if I was honest – and suddenly I had thought to simply quit the job and start a new life? I had been an idiot. And now my family had to pay the price for my arrogance… Emile had said once, a good hunter is like a lonely wolf. Lonely to live, to vanquish – and to die. Maybe… I could challenge death one last time, or strike out a bargain for my family…

I arrived at the rendezvous point, Calle Caterina 15. It was an inconspicuously looking house in the suburb. A slim man in leather outfit received me after the entrance door had hardly shut. He checked me for weapons, but I spoiled him the fun of finding some. Nobody would shoot me now, so why should I pass one of my beauties into the hands of this scum? Obviously in bad mood because he had found nothing, the leather-guy pushed me upstairs to the first floor. I would let him pay later.

In a nearly empty room, perhaps rented only for this occasion, another man was waiting for me, sitting with his back to a half open sash window. He was about forty, forty-five, sweated and shot on-and-off-glances to his notebook screen. He seemed quite uncomfortable. Supposedly, Harrington had ordered him to handle this first encounter, however he would've preferred being far away from me. It was an untimely reaction at the moment; if he had more experience, he would have known that. But, well, if he wanted savouring fear a little while longer – who was I to interfere? On the contrary, I might get more out of him than he wanted to share…

"I heard you are eager to make business with me?" I started.

"Sit down!" The leather guy hit his rifle in my back.

I made a forced step forward, but rested upright. "I prefer standing," I replied, while looking down at the shit-face at the desk.

He watched me. He had expected a nervous, anxiety-shaken man begging to spare the life of his innocent family. _This won't happen, bastard! Before you get this sight, you'll be dead twice, I assure you!_

"We have your family, Van Cleaf," he said, trying to spread some 'kidnapper's aura'.

"I know that already. Mr. Harrington was so friendly to leave me a message."

Two results: the guy behind the notebook blinked surprised – the name of his boss was something I should not know yet; and I was hit with the rifle again.

An angry gesture to the leather-chap behind me followed, and he pulled back. "If you don't transfer 4 million Dollars to the account we tell you, we will kill your family. We will start with your whore, and end with your smallest kiddie, so they'll have the most of it!"

_I'll cut you into appetizers and feed __them to the sharks. _"Four million Dollars? Who the fuck you think I am?"

The man jumped up. He had the composure of a fly! My strategy worked well. I would have enjoyed this, if not Rosa and my children were at stake!

"I warn you, Van Cleaf! Don't try to play games with us!"

"With you or with you employer Harrington?"

This time, the rifle stroke my head and I was pushed against the wall. "Don't get sassy! We have nine men out there-"

_Thank you._

"-and you're alone! You can undersign the transfer with a broken arm or half dead, understood?"

_This would look bad at the counter, you know._

His celly rang and he let go off me. Obviously, Harrington was at the phone; I heard the short-tempered guy murmur again and again 'yes, boss – of course, boss '. _Ass-kisser! _I felt something wet drip down my neck. _Shit. _

The netbook-guy turned his attention back to me. "You'll comply, or someone has to suffer. – Now you'll set your ass in motion to the next bank and prepare everything! Carlo will accompany you!"

Aha, Carlo was the name of the leather-guy. "This isn't how this works, man," I said and pressed a tissue against the wound in the back of my head. "I want to see my family first, or I move nothing."

"You'll do AS I SAY!"

_Harrington seems to put him under quite a pressure._

"—Or we have your special friend Boudreaux starting with one of your daughters! UNDERSTOOD?"

Now I needed all my effort not to wince; not to display what I sensed inside! Had I heard right? Boudreaux? Chance Boudreaux? The man who nearly killed me 15 years ago in the States? Never would I forget the moment, when he thought he had finished me off and stared at me, waiting for me to croak! When I built my last reserves to kill him, and could not anymore, because I blacked out. No, never I would forget this moment. Damned bastard! And he was here?

"UNDERSTOOD?"

I let my head drop in a simple gesture of agreement. At the moment, I could not do much more. I had won some precious information. Now I needed time! The desktop-guy walked back to his notebook, while Carlo shoved me out of the door, weapon in my back again. Last thing I heard from him was that he would wait here for us to return. I had to get access to this computer, and his cell phone, too…

**A little bit later ===**

Carlo had changed his rifle against a less noticeable gun, a small 'H&K', which pointed at my side while we walked in the direction of a parking lot. With high probability, he would handcuff me there – at least, if he was smart enough. Getting through the traffic with a free-handed prisoner was a risky game! Whatsoever, I could not take the risk of being chained! Seeing the worn out sign for 'Toilet' at a shabby building nearby, I decided to act.

"Sorry, man. I have to take a leak."

"What?"

"The toilet."

"What's your problem? Are you a lil' girl? - Just do it over there AT THE WALL!"

"I can't. – Come on, what can happen? I'm not armed. I won't flush me down the drain, and you can stand right behind me with your gun, if you like."

Carlo spit on the ground and pushed me forward – direction toilet house. The building was one of the usual public facilities, meant half torn down by vandals inside, graffiti-sprayed, dirty. But no people in there, very good! I went into one of the cabinets and got another nasty comment of my 'companion'. Fortunately, this was an 'old-school-facility', with a water box above, and a rusty chain hanging on it. I grinned. One strong haul and the chain was partly in my hands.

"Ey, moron, what's going on in there?" Carlo shouted from outside.

"Nothing. The flush broke down. I'm nearly-"

He didn't trust me and burst in. I had foreseen this. A fast kick and the door swung back against him. He stumbled, lost his weapon. Swearing, he lunged forward to grab it; and this was the moment I had waited for. I threw the toilet chain around his neck, tightened it, before he could reach the gun again. He coughed, rattled, tried to break free. _Ah, disgusting! Killing with a springe! _A last fast pull, then it was over. I took his 'H&K' and dragged the body into the cabinet. I flushed the chain down and doffed the jacket from his shoulders, because of my fingerprints on it. Steps could be heard! Well, another man with an exigency to free himself! I had to hurry. Gun in my belt, I adjusted my appearance. Carlo's jacked over my arm I left the cabinet's door ajar, went to one of the sinks. When the other man entered, he didn't even notice me. Fortunately, the wound in my head had stopped bleeding; so I would not draw any attention in looking like fled from a slaughterhouse!

…

This time, I moved in from behind in Calle Caterina 15. When we had left the place half an hour earlier, I had spotted a flat building at the back, and iron ladders reaching up to the roof for maintenance. Perfect! However, there were some people with a truck in the yard; I had to wait a bit. Some minutes later I was alone again and stepped out of the shadows. It wasn't to hard getting up to the roof of the barrack and thus near the first floor of the other building. Shortly after, I crouched down behind the still half open window of my opponents' refuge. I could hear the notebook-guy talking in his celly again. I waited till he had finished his business – interrupt somebody while talking was a bad manner, wasn't it? When he sat down again, leaned back in his chair and folded the hands behind his ugly had, I went into shooting position. Sadly, Carlo's 'H&K' had no silencer. So I had to conclude this deal the hard way. One little turn to the right yet… _Yes. I don't want your fucking brain smutch the notebook…_ Then I fired. Of course it got dirty – and loud! I had not much time, for sure. I climbed inside through the window, took the man's cell phone, careful not to leave any fingerprints, and then the notebook. I walked out of the front door slowly, as if nothing had happened. It was a plus it was getting dark. Without any incident, I reached my parking Rover and started the engine.

…

I had reviewed the guy's celly connections and checked the numbers in the internet, using a hotspot near the central bus station of Puerto Soro. Some turned out to be sex-hotlines. _Was a boring job you did for Harrington, he? _Others obviously were calls from and to the other members of the gang. The most interesting was a connection to an office in the harbour. It had been a long call – so something important had been discussed. The kidnapper I had 'interviewed' back on my yacht, had spoken of a railway depot as the place where Harrington had brought my family…. Was I on the right track? I tried to compare with the email files at the notebook, but could not get access after the thing had gone into standby. Crap, dammit! Involuntarily, I saw my son Gerrit grin in my memory. He was a crack with computers. Perhaps he would've found a way to override this… I let my mind wander for a second. Gerrit should nearly be in Capetown by now.

_I hope you don't mess things up, son! Don't wanna see you visiting me in hell someday!_

The phone began ringing and I smashed it. It was far too easy to locate me via this, as long as it functioned! Then I went back to my internet search and concentrated it on this harbour – office. I looked it up on Google Earth and found the eastern part situated near a railway line, indeed. The buildings were numbered, and I could rule out some, because they were in firm possession of some companies. Nevertheless, there rested at least 5 – too much for a trial and error run! So I went into the bus station to a public phone and called the number of the harbour office. I spoke Spanish – which I had learned quite well from Rosa over the past years – and played dumb courier:

"Hello? Uh, Mister, sorry for disturbing. I have to deliver a package to a … uhm… Mister Harrington. I hope spelling it right? Well, I lost the correct number of the barrack he is in! I'm such a fidget… sorry! If you could help me out of my misery?"

"Wait a second…." Said the guy at the other end. I heard him bustle through paper and klicking on his keyboard. "Ah… here it is! Number TC 8!"

"O really? Heavens, I'm almost there! Thanks a lot!" This had been easier than expected! TC 8. I went back to my car and the notebook and Google Earth…

**=== Meantime / ****The public facilities ===**

Detective Agostin cursed and shoved his rebellious grey hair back again, while one of his assistants was still busy securing the crime scene, and another was talking to the police station.

"So what do you say, Federico?"

"There are more pleasant ways to die… This was a profi's kill, absolutely no doubt. No fight between junkies or similar stuff!"

"Organized crime?"

"Maybe. All his money and the ID-cards were still at place."

The other officer set down his walkie-talkie. "I just got word from the station. This guy was not a clean slate! We have a long record of him from Buenos Aires and other cities as well, it seems. Laura is still working on it."

"Ok. So far, so good!" The Detective walked to the door and looked around. "Let's see if we have any fingerprints!"

Another officer entered. "Sir, I checked the surveillance camera from the other street, at the weapon's shop…."

"Yes?"

"Out of business for 5 months now. Sorry."

"Holy crap! For what reason do they HAVE a camera if it does not work? Idiots!" Agostin's own walkie-talkie was beeping and with a sigh, he took the call. His colleagues saw his features fall into the equivalent of 'This is gonna be a long night'.

"Another dead man has been found two blocks away, in an empty flat. Shot through the head from behind," he explained.

**=== Meantime / In the harbour area ===**

Rosa held little Maartie tightly and watched the men guarding her and her children. The leader of this bunch shouted in his cell phone for the umpteenth time – it was clear something did not go as planned. Was Pik already on the move against them? Rosa knew the kidnappers had contacted him, wanted 4 million Dollars in exchange. And she knew her husband well enough for knowing he wouldn't give in that easily to the threats! She played absently with her wedding ring, a costly one with three diamonds. Then she clutched the jewellery like some sort of talisman. She feared for Pik, perhaps more then for her own life. No matter what he had done in his former life – he had been a gentle man for her, and a good father for the kids! The thought of loosing him was like… like loosing any ground under her feet.

_Don't try to be a hero! _She warned in her mind.

Tired, she closed her eyes for a moment, but of course she could not even think of sleeping! Her body was exhausted; however her mind was in a state of sizzling alert. Maartie began crying again. Rosa tried to soothe the baby, but with no effect. Perhaps he was hungry, perhaps it was simply the situation and the surroundings, which affected the little one. She only hoped he would not get a seizure. There had been no possibility to get his medics before the kidnappers dragged her from the yacht!

One of Harrington's men swirled around, yelling: "Silence this squaller, dammit! Or I do it!"

"I'm sorry!" Rosa answered and trembled in seeing the gun pointed at the baby. Her heart raced. "I'm sorry, I do what I can! He is not feeling well…"

"Leave my Ma alone!" The fierce cry came from 6-year-old Samuel, who clenched his small fist and attacked the kidnapper.

"SAM!"

A kick hit the little boy and made him land hard on the concrete ground. "Fucking little bastard!"

"SAM! Madre mía…Sam, come to me!" Rosa felt like dying.

Harrington's order to leave the hostages alone saved the boy's life. But the glare of the kidnapper which wandered from Samuel to her and back left no doubt, next time it would get worse, far worse.

**=== Back at the bus station ===**

I was still busy familiarizing me with the harbour barracks and building TC 8 in particular as best as I could – the Google tool was not that great on that score, because I could not get side views. Fortunately, I found some other pictures and floor planes in the net. I had to act this night. It was highly probably Harrington already suspected something had gone wrong, because his men did not answer anymore. If I wanted to succeed, I had only this small chance NOW. I turned to the back seat to prepare my weapons, when I heard a sound nearby. Somebody was closing in with cautious steps…

I dove down on the seat and grabbed my'Glock 19'.


	4. Two against Nine

**=== P****uerto Soro / Somewhere in the town ===**

The stranger closed in on my Rover. It was a small, rather thin frame, as far as I could discern in the twilight. Maybe a teenager or a woman. But the determination the person walked in my direction let me dismiss the possibility it could be just a harmless, nightly passer-by. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading for, and this was my Rover. Maybe Harrington was not THAT stupid and had sent someone after me; a third man in addition to the two I had killed? Someone who had not stepped on the scene so far? I tried figuring out if the stranger had any weapon in his hands or under his jacket – but it was simply too dark around here!

However, it made no sense following someone's tracks for half of the day and then acting like that, just walking right in front of the target!

_What a moron did you hire, dammit? Or is he up to something else? Sabotage my car…?_

The stranger was now under the trees and completely undiscernable. I cowered deeper behind the Rover's front door and listened to the footsteps cracking on the sandy road. I couldn't see anything now, but the sound pattern gave me enough information.

Now!

With a fierce push, I opened the car's door, lunged forward and took the stranger down, my weapon ready to fire a deadly shot through his head. He spread his hands immideately. And I heard a voice I had expected the last: "Dad! It's ME!"

I stared in Gerrit's face. For a second, I was frozen. Then I grabbed my son at his jacket and pushed him back against the car. "Are you INSANE?" I had rarely shouted at him until now. "I could have SHOT YOU!"

"Dad-"

"Get inside! … What the fuck were you thinking? What are you doing here?"

"I skipped the flight! Hitchhiked to Puerto Soro…"

_This cannot be… _I shook my head, feeling suddenly very exhausted. I did not know what to say.

"Dad, I couldn't do this! I just couldn't! You always said, we Van Cleafs, we have to stick together! It's what you taught me!"

I wiped over my face. Worst case scenario, indeed! "Gerrit… I have no time right now. I know where Rosa and the others are held, and I have to strike now, or I loose every little advantage!"

"You know?"

"Yes." I continued with the preparations of my weapons. "In a barrack in the harbour." _Clack._ The ammo-pack was in place. I stored the Desert-Eagle in my shoulder belt and took a surplus package out of the box under the seat. "It's one against nine, as far as I know. So I CAN'T pay any attention to you now, Gerrit."

"Two against nine," he answered. "I come with you."

"We already spoke about that!" The next weapon found its way at my left side, and I switched the laptop on again for some final views at the area. When I heard the familiar sound the unlocking of a gun produced, I looked up – and stared at the barrel of one of my beauties, in the hands of my son!

"You will have to shoot me first, Dad, if you want me out of your way!"

_You are too much like me… far too much… _"Or you shoot me, or what? I have no time for this!"

The weapon rested where it was, pointing at me. The boy meant business. I knew him well enough and I knew me. Continuing with this would only get one of us injured and incapacitated!

"I'm good, Dad! You know that! I can make a difference!"

"You've shot at practice targets and animals before! Never at armed men!" _I should've never allowed you to touch any weapon!_

"I can do it Dad! Trust me! And our chances are 50 percent higher!"

The clock of the nearby church stroke 9 pm. _No time for this, dammit! _I decided quickly, before any thought of remorse could settle in again. "Fine. You'll join me. But you won't discuss any of my orders out there – or I WILL knock you out. Clear?"

"Perfectly, Dad." His face was serious and suddenly mature indeed.

I got the impression of looking in a mirror and seeing my younger self. I loosened my armament partially again and took the bulletproof vest off. "You will take it. – Now, which gun are you best at?"

…

Shortly after, we memorized the maps and pictures of the place I had downloaded before. "First, we drive up to that bridge," I explained my plan. "From there we'll have clear sight over the target area and we can pinpoint the location of the enemy's sentinels and the other men – of most of them. Some will be inside to guard the hostages, of course. Then we will decide how to proceed, to take as many of them down before their companions figure out at all they are under attack. We have to move smooth and fast and get a clear shot, either in the heart or the head."

**=== Meanwhile / Puerto Soro / Harbor-depot-area ===**

Harrington was nervous. More than nervous, to be correct, but he would never have admitted that. Now the words Chance Boudreaux had directed at him weeks ago still in the States, gained a bugging preeminence. _…"You know there's an old saying among the people in the swamps down in Florida, where I come from: Don't wake a sleeping alligator – it might come after you quicker than you can run. If Van Cleaf is not dead, but only asleep, as you say, he might be a bigger prey than you can handle…" _ Harrington had answered with a hissed _"As I can see YOU have lost all your teeth in prison, Boudreaux!"_ what nearly cost him two of HIS teeth in consequence. However… Boudreaux joined his team, and this was vital! Even if the two men did not trust each other very far; they both were longing to see Van Cleaf finally hunted down and dead. The one as a mean to get his money, the other simply to have his revenge on destiny.

Harrington was crossing the yard towards the entrance of the container store, where the hostages were held. There, Chance Boudreaux stood guard, a little grumpy as well, because kidnapping children and women wasn't exactly what he wanted to do. "Still no contact?" he asked, when discovering Harrington. A little part of him enjoyed to proof himself right against this arrogant ex-cop-asshole. "Want to know my opinion? Van Cleaf has sent them down to have a little smalltalk with the devil. And he's moving against us right now. We should relocate…"

Harrington hated hearing things like these from one of his men. This was his damned plan; it had to work! Didn't he know criminal records from his work at the police? Didn't he know the psychology of situations like these? And: didn't he know this Van Cleaf for more than 8 years now, in which he had stalked every move of his? "He is only one guy, don't overestimate him, Boudreaux! Maybe he has managed to outmanoeuver my two men down in the city; should've handled this myself! Let him come here; then it'll be different!" Nonetheless, it was more of an essence to assure himself, it seemed. "After all, don't forget we have his family… his weakest spot, where we can poke the blade, and turn and turn… until he gives us everything we want, right?"

Boudreaux threw the butt of his cigarette away. A WEAK SPOT?… As far as he remembered, Pik van Cleaf had been enjoying the deadly game he was involved in, up to the last stand. He had shown no fear – totally different from the fellow soldiers Boudreaux had known in the Iraqi war. They had been tough guys, too, but there had always been a moment when even they only could scream or run or pee in their pants! This particular moment when a man found himself surrounded by his enemies and death was slowly strolling towards him… Well, Van Cleaf had acted calm and determined until the end.

_Until his supposed end,_ Chance corrected himself.

Could it be a man like this one had changed that much over the years so he became what Harrington thought? This, he doubted very much. A family – okay. He didn't know if this girl was mistreated constantly and perhaps was happy to get away from her sadistic torturer! Or whatever possessed her to get into a relationship with this killer! However – sitting here and WAITING for Van Cleaf to show up was a rather nasty imagination. "We should be prepared… for something, at least," he said.

"We are prepared, don't worry. Just let him show up, we will receive him properly. And if he makes a mistake…"

"And if he makes no mistake? He's a cold-blooded killer! If he would make mistakes that easily, he would already be dead for years!" The slightly sarcastic words were out of Boudreaux mouth before he could swallow them down again. He was getting nervous, too.

Harrington's eyes became narrow – however he neither attacked Chance nor shouted anything, even if it cost him quite an effort. "He WILL make a mistake, I assure you," the ex-cop finally whispered deadly and slowly. "I have YOU to let him make a mistake, understood, Boudreaux? This is your purpose; why I paid the flight for your ass! Let Van Cleaf make a mistake! – Good, now that you are briefed, I suppose you have no further questions?"

Harrington walked away.

_I'm a bait… _Boudreaux thought. _I'm his fucking bait! _

…

Inside the hall, Rosa and her children huddled together. Thank God, little Maartie was finally asleep. Samuel slept, too, simply overwhelmed by tiredness. The two girls were still awake. Teresa had put her arms around her younger sister. "Will Pa come and rescue us?" she whispered in the direction of her mother, who did not know what to answer. Of course she wanted to be out of this mess again, wanted her children to be safe! But not if the price was Pik getting injured or even killed! And what about Gerrit? Where was he? Was he safe?

She raised her head and observed one of the kidnappers. He was the youngest one, it seemed, and obviously felt a bit uncertain and stressed. She remembered, he had looked away when his companion had hit Samuel. Perhaps…

Some time later, the young man shot a glance in Rosa's direction and she dared asking: "Please, could you bring us something to drink? Water, perhaps? For the children. Please…"

First, the kidnapper hesitated, but then he nodded and vanished, giving one of his companions a sign to take over.

When he came back and gave Rosa a bottle of Mineral Water, she whispered hastily: "If you agree to help us, I'll give you this ring!"

The young man did not answer. He looked around nervously.

"It's worth something! Real diamonds!" Rosa added pleading.

"STOP talking!" The kidnapper suddenly yelled and pointed his rifle at her.

Another of Harringtons men marched in, alert. "Do they make any problems, Luis?"

"No!" The young gangster spit on the ground. "What's going on outside? Any sign of the others yet?" …

Rosa held her gaze fixed to the ground, in order not to provoke anyone, and caressed Maartie's head. Deep inside, she began to sense a small hope. At least, this guy had not denunciated her right away! Perhaps he needed some time to think about her offer. She must not put him under pressure…

"Ma… I'm hungry…" Samuel was awake again.

"I know, darling. We all are. But you can hold on! You will make your Daddy very proud, will you?"

"I'm hungry too…" Maria was weeping. "Are they going to hurt us?"

"Don't think about such things, sweetheart! … I will tell you a story; come a little closer!"

**=== Later / Nearby ===**

Crouching on the roof of the adjoining barrack, my son and I made the last checks of our equipment. Gerrit had a shotgun and a TAC 62, both with silencers; I was armed with my favourite guns, one with sub-sonic ammo, in addition to two blades for hand-to-hand combat, just in case. We had seen five of the kidnappers outside the supposed container barrack, where my family was held captive. Three of them obviously were set on fixed posts; the others were just walking around to pass time. Meant, we had four of the shit-faces inside. IF the man I had killed back in the town this afternoon had told the truth! This was the risk we had to take…

The lighting of the area was okay, considered the circumstances. Two huge spotlights covered the right side, illuminating half of the yard and the barracks, and providing wonderful shadow in between the singular containers. On the other side of the place, everything was vanishing in twilight and darkness, perfect for crossing the area unseen and making swift kills! Under normal conditions, I would have been the one doing this part, while Gerrit provided cover. But 'sneaking in' with an artificial kneecap was simply not possible. No use to deny that. So we had to split our duties!

Gerrit would go in from the Southern part, over the roofs of the adjoining barrack, down in between and hopefully take down two enemies under way. His targets stood at a perfect angle for this operation – they couldn't see each other and therefore would not notice if one of them fell down. If he had cleared this part of the area, I could move in from the other side, and then proceed along the wall and the tower crane, until I had the next one within firing range. I had to cross lighted area – Gerrit had to do a good job, or I would be a dead man! If everything worked as planned, I would then enter the barrack through a small side door and check the situation inside, while my son closed in and covered my back. Unfortunately, we had no radio gear. We had to rely on our watches for exact timing, because most of the operation's time we would not see each other.

A last pad on his shoulder and a nod, this was the sign for Gerrit to leave. When I watched him run over the roof and then dive down into the shadows, I felt a pang of guilt like never before. _Holy crap! I'm making a murderer out of my son! Didn't I swear only some days ago I would rather die than allowing that? _For a second, I was close to call him back; or to run after him and hold him back – of course, useless, dangerous thoughts! _Focus, man, FOCUS! _A glance at the watch. Now it was my turn! I moved to the rain pipe and cautiously slid down the three meters. _Wish I could contact Gerrit… _Forward to the right – cover – forward again. Everything was perfect so far. I heard steps in the yard and a man asking another for a cigarette. I recognized the voice: Chance Boudreaux! Some more steps further…

In exactly this moment one of the guards had to move to the wall of the nearest container and pee! Down! I crouched down as far as I could in the little bit of shadow provided from the base of the crane. From the other side, a low dull sound could be heard. Had my son hit his first target? The kidnapper still stood at the wall very close to me _… Dammit, I have to move! What does this dumb-ass doing there?... _I was in a vulnerable and uncomfortable position; moreover I lost precious minutes! _… Just move, you brain-dead moron! Can't you find the zipper from your pants?... _A louder sound from the other side of the yards. _…Gerrit? This has made too much noise!... _Boudreaux said something about checking out. _Shit! … Gerrit, pull back! …_

The next moment, the guy standing at the wall until now, turned – in the absolutely wrong direction and had me right in front of his nose. I fired without a second thought. From this distance, it was no big deal to get him down with a shot right through the heart. He had not even time to moan or scream. He just tilted over. But his body came down with too much NOISE of course, and in too much LIGHT! Now I could forget the schedule! I jumped up. So far, no one else in sight; Boudreaux had vanished behind the corner. I managed to haul the body behind the base of the crane. A shot echoed over the yard; without a silencer, so not from Gerrit for sure!

… _Fuck it!__ If Boudreaux has done anything_…

No time! Another man was running out of the container now, yelling and weapon at the ready, followed soon by yet another. I forgot my cover and shot both-handed now. I brought them down, one injured, the other dead for sure; I had hit his head. Shots from another corner! I let myself fall, rolled over behind some stapled iron bars.

-TBC…. Reviews appreciated! Thx


	5. Remorse

**=== Harbor Area ===**

Chance Boudreaux ran in the direction of the last heard shot. In the deep shadow between the containers, he nearly stumbled over the body of one of the gang-members. But more he could not discern. Whoever had fired this deadly shot, was either already gone, or well hidden…. And probably took aim at him this moment! Boudreaux pulled back from the tactically awful spot in the narrow path between the containers. Harrington called for him, but this time, he ignored it; advanced instead on another route past the barracks.

…

Every shot echoing trough the yard, made Rosa feel more nauseated. Was this Pik's action? Maartie cried again, a loud, frightened crying. She held the baby close to her chest, but obviously could transmit the little one only more fear and pain. Maria's face was covered with tears, too. She stared at the entrance and bit her fingernails. Teresa was as pale as the wall, when Harrington's silhouette showed up against the outside spotlight and closed in fast.

"You! You come with me!" With his rifle, Harrington made a gesture in Teresa's direction.

The girl cramped around her mother's arm. "Please, not her!" Rosa begged, "she's just a child!"

The only reaction she got was an angry snarl from the man, and then he grabbed Teresa and forced her to her feet roughly. Screaming, she tried to break free. Harrington slapped in her face and dragged her further. Rosa saw blood dripping from her lips. The angry screams had become a frightened whimper. More shots outside.

"Please please let my child go!" Rosa's thoughts raced in desperation. She was ready to give and do everything, just to have her children safe! "PLEASE…."

"Shut up!" For a moment, Harrington's rifle pointed at her, before he finally vanished towards the yard and the young Luis took position next to the hostages again. Rosa could not even think anymore. Her mind was like blocked and frozen in shock. "Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ajuda…" the little part from the rosary her mother had always mumbled, was everything she was still capable of.

The terrified Teresa using as a shield, Harrington moved back on the scene, shouting: "Van Cleaf! I KNOW this is you, bastard! You can see the little present I have for you, can you?" He pushed the girl some steps further into the yard, on which a grave-like silence settled. The barrel of his rifle did barely loose contact with her head. "Van Cleaf, I'm going to kill her! Try anything and she'll never reach the age a man can have decent pleasure with her! And THIS would be a pity, wouldn't it?" A movement with his left hand, and Teresa's shirt went down in shreds. The girl screamed again. One of his men chuckled and roared.

…

Still in cover behind the iron bars, I had to watch what this shit face did to my daughter. These seconds, I felt like dying, and it felt like an eternity of torture. _Gerrit had been right - I should never have founded a family!_ What should I do? I scanned the area with a hasty glance. My options were very limited, to put it mildly. What the fuck should I do? I had still enough firepower to fight my retreat - with a portion of luck. But what about Teresa? I was in a damned trap! I tried to get a clear lock on this scum's head, however could not because of my daughter.

"So COME OUT and let's talk about our little business like reasonable men!" Harrington yelled again. "My finger is at the trigger - try anything, and she is dead! DO YOU HEAR me?"

My options were not limited. I had been mistaken. They were plain and simple zero. The picture of Teresa burned in my eyes. All my muscles tense, I slowly rose. Defeat! My legs, my whole body suddenly was heavy as stone. I could barely step out in the light… raise the arms to let my weapons drop… Defeat.

A single shot! Harrington winced, let go off Teresa, held his right arm. What the hell-? I acted instinctively, pushed up with a burst of Adrenalin. Crossing the space still between me and Harrington and my daughter, grabbing her and shooting with the one gun I had left was nearly one move. There was no time to calculate anything, no time to think, because the next second, hell broke loose. Shoving my trembling daughter behind me as best as I could, I fired back wide range to hold the enemy down. 4 or 5 meters back to a cover. A very long distance… Two times I was only narrowly missed. With a final jump Teresa and I were behind the tower crane's base again. The girl was in shock, started to hit after me, screamed and nearly got out of the cover again. "Terry! Terry, it's ME! Your Dad! Terry, stop!" I had to pin her down with the knees while I reloaded my weapon. The enemy was closing in faster than I wished. At least 15 meters separated us from the exit of the yard; up on one of the containers was out of question. My only chance was the tubs on top of a truck on the left side of the yard. I could only hope they had something inflammable inside! Or at least I got the truck's - hopefully - not empty tank! However, this meant I had to leave my cover again, to get a clear sight on the target… _I should have taken some explosives with me, dammit!_

"Teresa? When I go out, you'll run like hell to the exit! Do you understand? Terry?" She nodded, but I wasn't too sure she could move at all, for she was shivering all over. "One - two - NOW!"

I was lucky. The tubs went up in an explosion and a moment later the truck. The wind let the fire create a barrier across the yard and we won some time. Teresa stumbled forward in front of me. I fetched her again, pushed her towards the exit and out of the now unfortunately brightly illuminated area. I was not able to follow her: I was hit and lost ground. But before I could take my gun and prepare for the final stand against whomever, two hands grabbed me. "Up, Dad! Come on!" It was Gerrit! He hauled me up, and somehow we managed to get away, before our most tenacious opponent could lock on for another shot - maybe it was just the time he needed to reload? Anyway, he lost us, and we heard him curse violently.

**=== A bit later ===**

Harrington was furious. This night had cost him 5 of his men, not mentioned the two from Calle Caterina 15, who were missing, and one hostage. Moreover, he was wounded. The shot had gone through his arm and had damaged the bone, as it seemed. His whole shirt was already soaked with blood, while Luis tried to apply a bandage. Not that an easy task, because the pain only made Harrington more enraged.

"Where have you been, Boudreaux? I called you!"

"I was after this other guy, who came with Van Cleaf. I thought, I -"

"You shouldn't think! You should - ah, what are you doing? Fucking hell! Be careful, man! - Haven't I told you, I want you HERE to let Van Cleaf make a god-damned mistake, Boudreaux? Haven't I told you that?"

"I think I hit him." Chance Boudreaux searched for a new cigarette. _You don't look too good, you should go to an ambulance_, he mused, but had not time to express this aloud.

"You THINK? - Well, we haven't found is body! So, take the hostages to the car, we leave! Just get out my sight!"

_This was a shitty idea from the beginning_, Chance thought, stepping over to the place where the woman and the children were crouching together. _You idiot get us all killed! And this fucking bastard Van Cleaf will laugh his ass out!" _ But there was nothing Chance could have done at the moment. Simply quit would let him end up in Argentina with no money and no possibility to go back - given, Harrington wouldn't send someone after him to kill him right away. Ice Harrington would make things only slightly better. His life seemed to have taken its final route into the big crap!

…

We had made it back to my Rover. Gerrit held a flashlight in position, while I checked the damage done by the enemy's bullet. It was nothing serious, only a grazing shot. I needed a bandage and an Aspirin. Nothing to worry about - this was not the case with Teresa. Since we had arrived, she sat on the seat next to me and wept. "Dad, what is this all about?" she asked now sobbing. "Why these people wanted to kill us? Who are they?"

I put my arm around her and shot a glance to Gerrit, accompanied with a short misgiving. Teresa didn't know anything about her father's former 'profession' - and I wanted it to stay that way a while longer! It was enough Gerrit knew, and already followed me on my path… "They want money, much money. They try blackmailing me."

"Why do the police not help us?"

What a simple and yet unanswerable question. I skipped the answer for now. "Try to rest a little, you are safe now, Terry. And we'll get your Ma and the others out, too." She sniffed and embraced me. I held her a while, then I gently pushed her back on the seat and wrapped my jacket around her.

When I turned around again, my son stood next to me with the car's emergency kit.

"Thank you," I said putting my hand on his' before he could retract it from the box. We looked into each other's eyes and I found the man behind Gerrit's child face, I had hoped not to find too soon. I had not wanted him to grow up in 30 minutes! "You saved my life," I whispered. "I'm not sure… if I'm… worth it…"

"I help you," was all he answered, opening the emergency box.

**=== Next Morning / Puerto Soro / Near the local Police Station ===**

Detective Agostin had taken place in the local cafeteria to reply with new ‚energy resources', after the exhausting last hours with only a little amount of sleep. And it did not look any better for the next days…

Agostin hid a yawn and wiped over his three-days-beard. "Another 5 dead in the harbor area, found this morning from the workers," he murmured, barely looking up from the reports besides his dish. They now knew, the man found strangled with the toilet-chain had been working for an American named Harrington, the same as the other man, who had been shot through the head from behind. But this was already everything they had discovered so far! Frustrating!

"Killed by the same guy who iced the other two?" his assistant asked, stirring his double-coffee. He had taken a four-hours-leave and had just returned to work.

"Wish I would know that! – Madre de Dios, what is this?" He let the meatball fall back on the dish. "Tastes like shit! – Well, the forensics said, these kills must have been carried out by two different persons. Here's the weapons list! Look at this, high precision weaponry, really expensive stuff! Sub-sonic ammo! However, not the same gun which was used in the murder at Calle Caterina 15!"

"Any other traces at the crime-scene?"

"Not yet. – Ah, this food should be declared poison, really! I better get a coffee, too!"

"Hm… Maybe somebody tries to reshuffle the pack in the organized crime…"

Agostin came back, a pot of coffee in his hand. "So far, none of the dead guys had connections to the big scene, you know. They all had a history for robbing, armed assault, drug dealing – the typical hired guns. We are still trying to get more information about this Harrington. I contacted the colleagues from the US-FBI. All I have until now is, that he is an ex-cop, fired for fraud delinquency. Nothing spectacular…"

He sipped his coffee and stared again at the report.

The voice of his assistant startled him from his 'meditation'. "Seems we are not the only police station with these kind of problems," he just said, shoving a newspaper under Agostin's nose. "This lay over there on the chair! It's from Punta Arenas, Chile. On the coast, on their side of Fireland, has been found a yacht with a couple of dead people aboard. The local police consider it as an act of piracy involving kidnapping, but the investigations are not closed yet."

The Detective looked at the lines and picture in the newspaper, mainly to find a little distraction from his deadlocked thoughts concerning his own cause. But then…

"Let's go back to the office," he suddenly said and stood up, his coffee pot still half full.

"What is it?"

"Don't know… I have this feeling… this particular feeling, this 'act of piracy' and our murder series are connected somehow! I mean, we had no acts of lethal violence here for… let's say a decade, perhaps more. Suddenly, somebody hijacks a yacht over in Chile, half a dozen people are killed – and three days after WE have a killer stalking around in Puerto Soro, only 500 miles away! I don't believe in such accidents!"

**=== At the Police Station / Some hours later ===**

As usual when he had skipped lunch, Detective Agostin noshed on a rich-in-calories-pastry. On his desktop were some FAX and notes from phone calls. When his assistant entered the office, Agostin took the opportunity to stretch and fold the hands behind his head.

"Looks as if you found something?" the assistant dared to ask, putting another pastry down on the desktop, as ordered.

"Thanks!" He took the pastry. "I checked up on this yacht, after nothing about the owner was in the newspaper – and normally this would be the headline: yacht from millionaire XY attacked! … Ah… Delicious! Should only eat Margareta's pastries for the rest of my life… - So, what do you think – this yacht has no owner! At least, no one that easy retrievable. It sailed under the flag of Zimbabwe, and the authorities there are obviously unwilling to give any information without considerable bribe. You just bang your head against a brick wall! They won't even understand English! Well… I had an informal talk with a colleague from the Chilean police, and he told me, this year the yacht had anchored in two harbors in Chile, and once it had been registered at the customs under the owner's name Paul Jacobson, the other time under Rosa Maria Valleverde. There is definitely something wrong with this ship … respectively its owner… and I'm going to find out!"


	6. Luring out the prey

**=== Near Puerto Soro ===**

I had been driving my kids and me out of Puerto Soro and thus, I hoped for the moment, out of the immediate danger from the rest of Harrington's bunch and the police as well. After what had happened in the harbor area this night, police would show up for investigation very soon – no doubt! But now I desperately needed some rest. I did not want to hit a truck! And I had to find a safe place for Teresa… One Harrington would not check out too soon…

Staring at my navigation system, something crossed my mind. Had not Carel, the boss from the Software Enterprise I worked for now and then, a little 'summer residence' somewhere in the area, and wasn't vacation time right now? I took the next exit into a dark narrow sideway and phoned Carel. I did not like the prospect to involve him in my shit. However, at the moment it seemed the only possibility…

Of course, he sounded a little tired, when I finally reached him… _'Pik, is that you? … What's up? Heavens… it's five in the morning! - Any crazy idea for a new egoshooter, that couldn't wait until a more pleasant time of the day?'_

"I wish it would be that a harmless thing with cyber-blood," I answered. "But it's something serious. And I need your help! I guess you are at your vacation home? … Fine. I will be there in… thirty minutes. Thank you, Carel."

'_Never mind. I always told you, if you ever need something, just say it! After all, you did not take any salary in all those years.'_

"Yes, of course." The words sounded somewhat hollow, and not only because I was that exhausted. Poor Carel had no idea what he was offering, and certainly could not imagine that my 'crazy ideas' for his computer games weren't that far from my reality…

…

Carel's summer residence, as he liked to call it, was a flat, spacious modern building. His architect had used much glass and combined it with concrete and steel in a unique way. It wasn't the kind of home I would have regarded as cozy. But with the wall around and the security system it looked like the little fortress I needed now!

The owner already awaited me at the gate. His welcoming smile froze, when he saw the three of us in plain light. "My God, Pik! You look terrible… "

"I know. Need a shower and some hours of sleep."

"What happened?"

"Some moron has kidnapped the rest of my family and set fire to my yacht."

Carel's gaze fell on the pale Teresa in my arms and then wandered over Gerrit, who carried our weapons. He shook his head in disbelief. "What a shit… Come inside!"

He helped me with Teresa, who was still that shocked from the events she did not speak more than a weak 'Hello'. Even in the house, the girl did not want to part from me. We put her on the couch in the living room and to my relief she fell asleep quasi instantaneously. I hoped she would feel a little better when she would wake up again…Gerrit seemed to manage the events quite good – for now. He was only hungry; I had never seen him eat that much in such a short time. Nonetheless, I was worried about him, too. He had experienced and done things, he never should have at his age.

"So, did you already inform the police?" Carel asked, handing me over a bottle of exquisite beer.

"No. You know, old friend… I have some black spots in my past…Police would be… lets say, a not so good idea. I have to handle this on my own."

"Well, everyone has his skeleton in the closet, right, Pik?" He padded friendly on my shoulder.

_I bet I have the one or the other more than you, pal. And right now… they rise from their graves…_ "I don't want to implicate you more, Carel. I only ask you to take care of my daughter while I'm away. I freed her from the hands of the kidnappers, but she is really battered."

"No problem, I'll do all I can. – But are you really sure you can handle this without the professionals?"

Now I had to smile despite the situation. I couldn't tell my old friend I was surely more professional than Harrington's bunch of hired guns, though. Including the local police. "Gerrit and I have shifted the balance quite well to our advantage already."

If I was not mistaken, we had taken out five of the kidnappers, and Harrington himself was wounded. This last thing could be bad, however, because an injured opponent was like a wounded animal: unpredictable. And Boudreaux was alive and well, too… Without noticing it, my eyelids fell during these considerations. And contrary to my usual habits, I slept on the spot, without a shower, and in my clothes.

**=== Some hours later / An abandoned farmhouse ****somewhere else ===**

They had taken shelter in an abandoned farmhouse some miles west from Puerto Soro.

Rosa, Samuel, Maria and Maartie huddled together on the dirty stone floor. Rosa had shred her shirt to make new swaddling clothes for the baby. However, it did not help very much. Maartie cried constantly. He looked sick and Rosa thought he already got a little fever.

_Holy Mother of God, please don't let my sweet little one die! _Rosa repeated again and again in her mind.

The young kidnapper with the name Luis, the one she thought to have perhaps interested in her diamond-wedding ring, had bought some food and milk in a gas station. Rosa and the older kids were glad to have something to eat at all, but it didn't help Maartie, who needed a special diet! She glanced in Luis' direction again. The young man sat on a left over tattered sideboard and smoked. When their eyes met, Rosa formed a silent 'please' with her lips and held the hand with the ring up. The kidnapper spit on the ground and left. Rosa could not discern whether he was giving a shit about her offer, or was only afraid to act because of Harrington and Boudreaux. Desperate, she tried again to infuse Maartie some of the cold milk. The little one spit everything out a minute later. _Holy Mother of God, please…Jesus, please, don't let him die…_

…

Harrington was in a bad mood, in a really bad mood. He had swallowed some pain killers and alcohol in surplus – two things letting his level of Adrenalin rise to a choleric state. After shouting at the hostages and his men, Harrington now sat on the steps of the door and stared into the morning.

"So what's our fucking plan now?" Chance Boudreaux dared to ask, similarly annoyed and on the edge.

Harrington shot up like a harpy. "Don't piss me off, Boudreaux! I HAVE a plan! And I'll share it with you when I LIKE! UNDERSTOOD? Just give Van Cleaf a little time to lick his wounds and come to his senses… He will crawl up to us… He will…"

_The only ones licking wounds are we right now, _Chance thought and blinked weary over the area, which was decorated with old rusty farming machines and wild plants. _The day Van Cleaf CRAWLS before someone is not in sight yet, you can bet your shitty life on it!_

Further unnerved by the constant crying and wailing of the baby, Harrington shouted at Boudreaux again: "Get me this bitch and her bastard! NOW!"

A moment later, Rosa stood frightened next to the kidnapper's boss, Maartie in her arms and ready to shield his little life with hers, if the worst would come. From inside, Sam's fearful "Ma, what's going on?" could be heard.

Harrington handed her the cell phone he had taken from her during the kidnapping from the yacht and then pointed his rifle at her. "I already dialed. So tell your loving husband, what will happen if he does not comply! And I mean COMPLY FAST!"

…

**=== Near Puerto Soro / Carel's vacation home ===**

I jolted from deepest sleep, when the celly beeped. Hearing the trembling voice of my wife, I was fully awake the next second, and against my will I sounded anxious for sure, when I asked back: "How are the children? And what about Maartie?"

Rosa started to answer, but Harrington snatched the phone from her hands, and I heard him blurting: _'Van Cleaf, you will do now exactly as I say, or your sweetheart will suffer much more than she has until now! You cannot find us this time! If you want your family safe, you'll do as I say! I will call you again and tell you the designation where I'll have someone waiting for you. You will show up WITH THE MONEY, understood?'_

"I want to talk to my wife!" I shouted.

'_Wait for my call!'_ Then he disconnected.

I swore and let the hand with the cell phone drop, wiping with the other over my face. When I looked up, I discovered Gerrit looking to me. I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me that far out of composure. I myself hadn't! Teresa was still sleeping, thanks God.

"How's Ma and the others? What have these shit faces done to them?" Gerrit asked.

"Nothing serious yet," I answered. "Of course they are not well…" _I never have heard Rosa that frightened! Harrington you fucking scumbag – when I get you, you'll regret the day you were born, believe me! _ I stood up, feeling my side where the shot had scraped me, hurting. "I need a shower. Have to get a clear mind and focus what to do."

Standing under the ice cold water, I eventually regained my ability to think clearly and calculate the possibilities. Of course it would help no one, if I would loose composure! And giving a spectacle to Harrington and Boudreaux was really the last thing I would do! They wanted to call back – fine. I would wait. And in the meantime figure out how to trap them, after Harrington felt that secure in his new hideout! But confronted with a skilled hunter, no hideout would provide enough safety for the prey! This bastard had used Rosa's celly… I knew there were methods to track cell phones down – exactly the reason why I normally did not use one. I had it with me only for the supposed time I would spend away from the yacht in training with my son, in case something happened at home. Well… something did happen indeed!

I turned the shower off and reached for the towel. I was already feeling much more in order than shortly before. Coming back in the living room, I found not only Teresa awake now, but Carel standing there as well. "Bad news, Pik?" he asked concerned. "I have some connections to the police… I could expedite some things…"

"No. Thank you." I walked to Teresa, bowed down to her and stroke over her hair. "Feeling better, Darling?"

"I'm afraid, Dad. Please don't go."

"Don't worry. All will be fine. We got you out – We will get your Ma and the others into safety, too. I promise." I turned back to Carel and Gerrit. "I need to track that cell phone. I know it is possible, but not exactly how. Especially not without involving the police…"

"Oh, there are websites," my son said. "Illegal ones, but…I mean… A friend in the last school showed me once."

"Now you show me! - Carel, we have wireless here, I suppose?"

He nodded. "I'll make you some coffee altogether. – I have invited you that often to come over for a weekend, but this I hadn't imagined, old friend!"

"Now you know the reason I have declined that often. Bad luck is following me…"

…

**=== Puerto Soro Police Station ===**

Detective Agostin had searched for hours now and found no clue concerning this yacht and its ominous owner. Every time he thought to get near a valid piece of information, it dissolved in the next step. Someone obviously had taken quite care to cover his tracks… But WHO the hell was he? An eccentric millionaire or some big mobster fellow? The Chilean police had found children's clothing and toys aboard the ship. His idea this yacht could have been a reloading point for drugs or weapons or stolen artifacts was getting weak. No criminal organization would burden with having women and little children around! Some kind of religious sect? His thoughts began wandering the narrower paths now. Somewhere HAD to be a hint!

He browsed again through the photographies his colleagues from Chile had kindly sent him. Remarkably enough, the police had not found any pictures of the people living on the yacht. Spots on the walls indicated there had been some, though. So somebody had deliberately taken them! The person who did not want anyone to know who he was? The person who was responsible for the murders in Puerto Soro? The Detective tapped a rhythm on the desk, trying to hush away his exhaustion and the feeling to run against invisible walls. He had reached a dead end and the distinctive feeling, not even one more of these delicious pastries would leverage him…

This was the moment, when his phone rang and one of the Chilean police officers he had been in contact with, reported to him. _'Detective Agostin? One of our men on the crime scene just dug up a photo. Seemed to have fallen some time ago behind the cupboard. We are still working on it. Nonetheless I scanned it and mail it to you, maybe there's a match of one of them in one of your visual databases! Good luck!'_

A moment later, he had the file on his computer screen. The photography showed an inconspicuous looking couple, standing in what – judging after the nature – could be southern Africa. A rather small Latino woman with curly hair and white dress. A tall man in black clothing, holding her around the waist, and with the other hand a rifle. Both smiled into the camera and seemed happy and innocent. Sadly, there was no clue indicating how old this picture was. The clothes of the two persons were simple style. He would let an expert take a look at it, but he estimated it to be ten years old perhaps, not more.

Agostin sighed. Well, what had he expected? A sign hanging around their necks with "I'm the wanted crime boss XY"? He zoomed in to get a closer look on the faces. In doing so, he realized another detail: two fingers from the right hand holding the rifle were missing. Interested, the Detective enhanced the area further and put amplifier software above. No doubt! And this gun therefore had to be custom-made! A small detail… but an interesting one. He would send some officers out to question the people at prominent points of the city (harbor, car hire, bus station) if they had seen this guy with his smart smile and missing two fingers! He could give out no warrant posters, as long as he was not sure they were on the tracks of the killer.


	7. Shit happens

**=== Puerto Soro / Police Station ===**

Detective Agostin stared at the photo, which he had clipped on his computer screen. The happy young couple on holiday in southern Africa… the smiling guy with his missing two fingers… The Detective was sure there was more about him than this 'Mama's sweetheart'-face. However, so far he had gotten no useful new information, despite the officers asking in town about the suspect. Either the man really hadn't shown up, or he was very good in blending in and masking his tracks. Just like a ghost!

Agostin sensed some kind of prickling challenge. He knew he was close to getting obsessed with this, because he couldn't advance in any direction. A situation, which always changed him into a sort of pitbull who could not let go under any circumstances. Often, this had been quite useful in his job. But sometimes it was only frustrating! _Come on, tell me your secret! _He whispered in his mind towards the photo. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Where was the path he had not checked yet? What did he miss?

Someone knocked at his door. "Come in!" Agostin said grumpy.

It was one of his colleagues, the one whom he had ordered to investigate Harrington. The look on the other officer's face let him find a small amount of hope… "So what did you get?"

"I checked the border control and airports. Harrington came to Argentina only four weeks ago, via Ushuaia. Seems he has recruited all his men here – or at least they awaited him here! Only one American accompanied him, a certain Chance Boudreaux." He gave Agostin some paper notices and printouts, and then continued: "An ex-con. Was sentenced to 15 years because of armed assault and 2nd degree murder, back in the States, in New Orleans, to be precise."

Detective Agostin looked at the photos. There was an old one from the prison's register – his colleague got it faxed from the FBI – and a rather blurry new one, shot by the surveillance camera at the airport. "Hm…hm…" grumbled Agostin. "So why the heck an American ex-police officer joins an American ex-con for a trip to Argentina…?"

He raised his head from the papers. "Harrington was from New Orleans, too, or am I mistaken?"

"Yes... He worked there, at least."

"Hm… well, thanks for once! I'll see if I can squeeze a little more out concerning Mister… what was his name?... Mister Chance Boudreaux! Would you mind bringing me a new coffee? I don't want to interrupt my thoughts by going myself…"

The colleague smiled and was out of the door. Yes, the nickname 'pitbull' was a fitting one for their boss! He would not even let go for a coffee break outside!

** Meanwhile / Carel's vacation home ===**

„Shit! It's one of these fake-sites!" swore Gerrit, when he tried again to locate Rosa's cell phone. We had to be quick – no one knew, when Harrington would realize his mistake and shut the thing down!

My son hammered again on the keyboard. "Now! – The number, Dad! … I'm in! Satellite tracking starts…" We looked over his shoulders, while the cross lines focused on an area getting smaller and smaller.

"This is not far from here," commented Carel. "I recognize the old weather station… and there, this could be –"

"FUCKING HELL! They've switched it off!" Gerrit looked as if he would explode any minute. His mouth was a thin line, when he smashed his fist besides the laptop. "SHIT!" But then his eyes filled with tears. "We were that close!" Teresa wept again, too.

"Easy…" I put my hand on his shoulder. "You've done all you could."

I knew exactly how he felt. During the past hours, he had given that much, put all his strength into the race, surpassed himself – and didn't get the prey! Now that the restraints of will had burst, the exhaustion fired back. I had experienced this when I was only 10 and on a safari with my father. After a hard day's hunt the prey escaped… And I had to learn to face failure, to cope with it, and not to give up, though.

Gerrit sat there and cried.

"Patience," I said. "Nothing is lost! They'll call again. They HAVE to. And then we will be prepared and get them! Gerrit, listen, I'm proud of you." It felt somewhat wrong to praise him for deeds I wished he had not done… "You did a good job, today, and last night even more. You know that. Don't let this scum get you, because you loose patience! Right?"

Now he turned to me and tried to grin. "Right, Dad."

"Good. Sounds better! – Harrington will call again, for sure. Keep the tracking open. I'm outside for a smoke."

_Keep patience._ I repeated the most important line for a hunter myself. Yes, I feared for Rosa and my other three kids, especially for Maartie. However, Harrington wanted something. He needed the hostages alive – or he would get absolutely nothing. He would grasp that, in all his fury. I hoped at least… My gaze wandered over the flowers in Carel's garden. They reminded me of the flower pots Rosa had kept on our yacht. Heavens, sometimes – and right now was one of these times – I still couldn't understand, how this woman could fall in love with me! She had wanted to flee from the brutality in her life, and she ended up with a man like me! What an irony! I had never done anything to her or the children, but my past was obviously a thing I could never outrun… And I dragged her into it, too… And our children…

I threw the butt down. Only a moment later, my cell phone beeped. "Gerrit, tracking!" I shouted, activating it and entering the house again.

'_Van Cleaf, do you hear me?'_

"Not very good…" I lied to win Gerrit some time. But this only worked for some seconds!

'…_I want you in Puerto Soro at the bus station, platform 3, in 5 hours! WITH the money in small bills! I'll send someone to meet you! Don't bother with recognizing him – he will recognize YOU! Got it?'_

"Yes. Perfectly. … How's my wife?" It couldn't be false to play a little along with him and give the impression I was willing to comply. This would let his alertness drop. "Please, how is my wife?"

'_DEAD if you do not as I said!'_ He hung up and immediately switched the phone off.

I glanced to Gerrit. "Did we catch him?"

He nodded and pointed at the screen. The cross lines circled around a lonely building situated in fields and wilderness. Wonderful spot, indeed! Wonderful trap… "Well done, Gerrit! – Carel, I need a chopper!"

My old friend looked very sceptical. "I'm not sure if I should let you continue, you know… Don't want to loose you and seeing my gaming department crumble…"

"Don't worry! I know what I'm doing." I tried to soothe him and my frightened looking daughter as well. "-So, there are some helicopter flight offers for tourists around here, I think?"

"Yes. I get you the phonebook."

Shortly after, I was connected with the little flight company. "…yes, I would like to hire a chopper and your most experienced pilot! … No, private issue I won't discuss at the phone. …Insurance restrictions? Forget this, man! I'll pay you half a million US-Dollar! … Yes… Ah, I knew we would get a deal! … No, I don't come to the airfield. I'll give you the specifications where I'll expect you…"

After I had taken care of this, I took Gerrit outside with me. "You won't accompany me this time. – No, wait till I'm finished! It has nothing to do with not considering you grown up or something. On the contrary. But… I say this to you here on the outside, so your sister can't hear, understood? – But if I do not come back, I need someone to look after Rosa and the others. I know you can do this, Gerrit."

For a moment, I embraced him, discovering the unsettling truth that I needed this more than he did.

**=== Puerto Soro / Police Station ===**

After some phone calls, ordering files from his colleagues in the USA (accompanied as usual with bureaucratic shit) and further research, Detective Agostin knew more about the events which had brought Boudreaux in jail. A very obscure thing, he had to admit, involving some high-society members of New Orleans and ending with half a dozen dead men in an old warehouse. In court, Boudreaux claimed he had acted in self defence, and the dead had belonged to an exclusive hunting club – out for men. Obviously this statement was something the judge couldn't believe and dismissed as delusional. The more, because one of the accused, a certain Emile Fouchon, even ran for the governor's office. And no one else could be questioned. Boudreaux spoke of two other witnesses, a young woman and his own uncle – but they couldn't be located. Case closed – and Boudreaux disappeared jail.

So far, so good.

_And as soon as he is out, he gets hired by this Harrington and __travels to Argentina to get in more trouble?_ Detective Agostin did not believe in too many coincidences! These two Americans were here for a specific reason, and this reason had something to do with the events 15 years ago in New Orleans. He was sure about that! Only interrupted by some day-to-day business, he began searching for more information, starting with the most famous of the involved men: would-be-governor Fouchon.

Detective Agostin browsed through some US-Newspapers on screen, sipped some coffee and fought against the growing tiredness. 'Fouchon denies accusations of homosexual relationship' was the headline just popping up in front of his eyes. Agostin sighed. _Typical American! They could freak out about such stuff and make it the major issue in a newspaper! _'…this year's candidate for the governor's office was accused by one of his political opponents to entertain a relationship with his young business partner, Pik van Cleaf…' The very next second, his ranting froze in his throat, when he saw the pictures accompanying the electronic text.

There he was! Mister 'Mama's sweetheart'! Absolutely no doubt!

The Detective had forgotten his headache and was wide awake. Hastily, he read the rest of the article. Then he shot a triumphant glance in the direction of the photo glued at his screen. _Got you, my friend!_

The more he dug in the files and notices concerning his asset, the more the innocent smile on the photo seemed to become a devil's grin. Van Cleaf was everything but innocent and blameless! Various complaints had been filed against him, involving him in high level crime business. He had been accused working as assassin for a Mafia-boss, but nothing could be proven. In fact, he was cleared from all charges by … _ah, guess who, _Agostin thought, … Emile Fouchon! And then he worked nicely in the art and architecture business with his new boss? _Don't you believe it! _No, he did not, and the judge back then in New Orleans who dealt with Chance Boudreaux did not, too. Van Cleaf was the only one against who was brought a charge, besides Boudreaux. Unfortunately, he was supposed to be dead, killed in the fires and explosions in the warehouse alongside all the others. Seemed the judge had used him as a sort of scapegoat, to silence the critics concerning would-be-governor Fouchon…

_Well, obviously the man wasn't THAT dead!_

The Detective stood up, stretched and in doing so grimaced as usual, then reached for the door.

"News!" he called, when walking out into the main office. As expected, all still working officers turned to him. "I discovered our mysterious yacht-traveller! Mister Pik van Cleaf. And it looks very much as if he is the responsible for the murders here, too!"

"Heyhey, good nose, Agostin!" His colleagues whistled and clapped their hands, relieved to have anything after the days of fruitless investigation.

**=== Later / Puerto Soro / Bus Station ===**

I had been driving down to the city again in a relative collected mood. As I had confirmed towards Gerrit, the odds were not that bad – I had survived so far and five of my opponents had not. Shortly I was musing, if I should take the chopper and fly directly to Harrington's hideout to free my family. Nonetheless, I dismissed the idea. If this bastard had send one (or more likely two, if he was not a complete idiot!) men to Puerto Soro, it would be better to wack them first. This would shift the odds further to my favour and in the meantime lull Harrington in a false sense of security. If everything went according to my plans, I would even get one of the kidnappers to make a sweet little phone call to his boss and assure him that everything was in best order! I smiled at the thought. Yes, I would piss him on his picnic!

It was already dark, when I arrived. The rush-hour was over. Therefore it was rather quiet at the station. I parked my Rover and took the suitcase out I had borrowed from Carel. Then I closed in, taking a large detour allowing me to survey all of the platforms from above. I figured Harrington was an idiot, indeed! On platform 3 a lonely and very conspicuous looking young man mooched around. His weapon made a huge bulge under his jacket – a wonder the police had not asked him some friendly questions so far!

I took my time to check the surroundings. As hard as I tried, I could not discern another back-up force from the kidnappers. Either Harrington considered the money transfer an easy task, or he really had no one else to spare!

In a dark corner, I put the silencer onto my 'Glock 19'. Good. Now I would go down to platform 3 and cordially invite this little motherfucker for a walk!

**=== Meanwhile / Puerto Soro / Police Station ===**

Detective Agostin's assistant sped through the nearly empty office. "Just got a call! Someone has spotted our suspect at the bus station!"

Agostin was that fast out of his chair, he forgot his aching back. "Inform the security there! And our officers in the area!"

"Already done!"

"So let's go! He won't slip through!"

**=== Puerto Soro / Bus Station ===**

The gun in my hand and my coat casually put over my arm for disguise; the supposed money-bag in my right hand, I strolled down the staircase and then turned to platform 3. My contact had seen me by now. I smiled – and this moron actually smiled back! Unbelievable. _Wouldn't be that a pity, if such a brain dead guy died_, I thought. Some steps later I had nearly reached him. Then I stumbled 'accidentally', got a hold on him before he could even reach for his own weapon, and pressed the barrel of my gun in his stomach. For the late passengers waiting here, it only looked as if a tired business man had searched help to avoid a fall.

"Move your ass!" I whispered, pushing the barrel gently against his body. "I assure you, it's a very painful death, when I shoot you where I point now!"

A man looked in our direction, asked if he could be of any help.

"No, thank you, I have all the help I need!"

In close 'embrace' the kidnapper and I headed for the exit. The automatic doors opened – and I stared into the faces and raised guns of three police officers!

"Drop your weapons! Hands up!"

For a second, I was unable to move or think. Steps behind me indicated probably more police.

"This must be a mistake," I managed to say then, without loosing the grip on the kidnapper. Whatever happened, I could not let him escape, or he would tell Harrington the money transfer had been a ruse!

An older police officer appeared on the scene now. When he looked up to me, I knew something had gone terribly wrong… "Mister Van Cleaf, don't try to play with us. YOUR game is over!"


	8. Deadly Countdown

**CHAPTER VIII „DEADLY COUNTDOWN"**

**=== Puerto Soro / Bus Station ===**

The guns of the police pointed at me and my unwilling companion, which I still held tightly, my weapon pressed against his rib case. I had to find a solution very quickly. And it had to be an awful good one!

_Rosa. My children._

"Hands up!" the police shouted again.

I pulled the trigger. The next second I pushed the limp body of the kidnapper aside, and simultaneously threw my gun to the ground, stretched my arms to the side. In my ears echoed the faint sound of one unlocked safety bolt like thunder. Only a little bit had separated me from being shot myself… I stared into the faces around me without really seeing anything.

The cry of the elderly police office pierced the air: "HOLD YOUR FIRE! Wait I said!"

The longest couple of seconds in my life… I pulled all my strength together. I had to focus. I could not even make a tiny mistake!

_Rosa. My children._

"Handcuff him!" ordered the commander of the police. I saw a young officer move towards me. Before he could grab my arm, I tilted over, coughing, choking and with all evidence of an epileptic seizure or whatsoever.

"Away! STAY AWAY!"

The elderly officer wasn't a dumb-ass! But his young companion lacked experience. When his reason finally kicked in with a little retard, he was too close and too slow! Before he realized what was happening, I had my left arm around his neck, and my right hand on his gun already. The next moment, I pointed at his head.

"Drop your weapons!" I demanded, cautiously standing up again, the young officer as a shield in front of me. "Drop your weapons, or he dies!"

The elderly officer made a hasty gesture in the direction of his men to back off. Then he stepped forward. "You can't win anything," he said now in a – as he hoped - pacifying intonation. However, this was a vain effort. I was all calm and collected. I knew exactly what I did – and this was no freak-out-maneuver! "You can't run. It is over, Van Cleaf. There is no way out for you!"

"Away with the guns! On the ground! Now!"

"Let us talk! Okay? You can't get out!"

"There's nothing to talk about. I can't allow you to interfere with my plans! The life of my family is at stake!"

"Van Cleaf, there is no way—"

"I don't discuss! You do as I say or your smart colleague here bites the dust! I don't make jokes. And I don't want to waste more time!" With my hostage in firm grip, I had nearly reached the door now. Behind it, I could already discern the swirling lights of a police car. _Perfect…_ Slowly, one after another the police threw their weapons and lowered down. The door slid back. Approximately 2 meters to the car! Enough for a final shot, and I was sure, there was a sniper somewhere!

"Tell your folks to stand down!" I called back into the bus station. "Any false move, and this boy here dies!"

The commander took his walkie talkie, bellowed some hasty orders. I stepped outside, taking care that my hostage was still shielding me. From somewhere, I heard a cracking, rustling sound. A bird or a stray dog? Or someone sneaking up on me? I decided to take the risk with a single, fast move. I turned towards the car with one wide step – and only narrowly escaped a bullet, which scraped over the car's roof. I let myself fall and pushed my hostage against the fender.

"Open the fucking door!"

I heard the police commander shout to stand by.

Finally, I was in the car! I started the engine, causing my hostage which I still held in the open door, gun at his back, to loose ground and roll over. Before I could close the door, the police opened fire. They smashed nearly all windows, but missed me.

_I must have a guardian 'devil'_, I thought. Because I could see next to nothing now, I hit another car. For a moment I was afraid I had crashed mine and would get nowhere. However, it still moved forward! Crossing the outer bus platforms and speeding through a group of yelling persons, I went up through the green area. Now the siren of at least one other police car was behind me.

I reached out with my gun and broke the shattered wind shield completely to have a better sight.

Well, I had overthrown two trash bins, and was nearly on the regular road by now! I fumbled after my cell phone and reactivated the number of the heli-flight-service, while forcing my car over the curb and on the street. Of course I was on the wrong lane, but luckily at this nightly time, the worst traffic was over and I reached the other side without accident.

The time until I eventually got my hired pilot on the phone felt like an eternity. The police was closing in and I had no time for detailed orientation. Moreover, the car was already in bad shape!

"Hello? … I need you to be at—" A short glance out of the window at the next traffic sign –"…Malverde crossing immediately! … Copy that? … Okay, now move your ass!"

I sincerely hoped I would make it to the Malverde crossing at all…

_Rosa. My Children. I have to. I just HAVE to._

**=== Meanwhile / Abandoned Farmhouse ===**

Rosa was desperate. That desperate, she would have done anything to save her children, especially Maartie. The little one needed medical help very badly. He wouldn't survive another couple of hours without something to drink, to eat and without his medicine. The image, how Pik was running to the hospital's emergency department with his little son in his arms for the first time some months ago, burned in Rosa's memory with growing pain. They had not known what was wrong with Maartie, then. Only the quick decision and experience of one of the doctors at the provincial hospital up in Mexico saved his life.

But now?

_I can't just sit here and watch him suffer and die… I have to do something! __I can't wait… Whatever happens to me then – I can't wait! _

She put her free arm around little Samuel and glanced over to the young kidnapper named Luis again. The man now sat on the ground, lazily drawing patterns on the dirty ground. Harrington was outside and obviously tried to reach his contact man in Puerto Soro again. Boudreaux was out of sight, too. Rosa took a deep breath and whispered:

"Look, this is going to end in disaster, for all of us. You will get killed or you end up in jail for the rest of your life!"

"Shut up!" Luis demanded, but without sounding very convincing. His voice was as tired as his body was.

"And for what?" Rosa dared to speak further, feeling Maartie tremble in her arm. "Do you think, Harrington will share anything with you if he gets some bucks at all? He will shit on you! I said I give you this diamond ring, if you help me! And I give you much, much more! Just help me!"

"Be silent!"

"Please! My little son needs help! He will die if he does not get his medicine! Let him and my children out of this! Please!"

Six pleading eyes hung on the nervous kidnapper's face. Maria cried again.

Luis stared at them. The wind was howling outside. One of the old shutters clacked. "Please…" Rosa repeated, knowing she would probably not have the strength for another word.

Finally, the young man in front of them moved. "I let the kids out! Through the back door! You stay! And make it quick, understood?"

Rosa nodded hastily. With shaky hands, she prepared Maarties blanket and her own scarf to work as a sort of backpack, in which Maria could carry the baby. The girl was afraid. "Ma, what if I can't make it? What if something happens, I—"

"You can do it, sweetheart!" answered Rosa in low, but determined voice, while applying the makeshift backpack to her daughter. "Think of the storm near the Scottish coast this year! You were that afraid, but you did a great job! You can do it, Maria! – Sam, come a little closer, and listen carefully, both of you…"

"Make it quick, I said!" Luis hissed, nervously playing with his rifle and looking over his shoulder.

"Sam, Maria, listen! When you are outside, you won't look back, you won't come back, whatever you hear! You keep running! The utility poles show you the course of the road. Don't take any other direction! When you are on the street, you should already see the lighting from the gas station; go there and let them call an ambulance!"

"Enough!" Luis grabbed Sam's arm and pushed him forward. Maria followed with a last frightened glance to her mother. "Ma…"

"You'll make it!" Rosa watched as the kidnapper shoved her children in another room. The footsteps softened._ I have to trust him…_

She folded her hands so tightly that it hurt. _Santa Maria, Madre de Dios…. __Let them make it… don't let them die… help me … help me… help-_

She startled, when Luis kicked against her arm. "The fucking ring!" he demanded raspy. The jewellery seemed stuck, and she could not get it off. Suddenly panicking, she pulled with all force - and let it slip when it eventually moved. Producing a melodious sound, the ring landed on the ground and rolled against the wall.

Too loud!

The two people stared at each other, frozen.

"Luis, what's going on there?" yelled Harrington, but unfortunately he did not wait for an answer. Dizzy and angry as he was from the mix of pain, medics and alcohol, he stormed into the house. "Where are these little rats?" Another two steps, and he grasped Luis. "You damned, stupid-!" He tried to kick his younger companion; however, Luis was faster, reached for his rifle. Before he could fire, though, Harrington shot. One, two, three times, venting all his frustration now. Luis stumbled against the wall and slid down backwards, dead.

Rosa cried, covered her face with her hands. When Harrington slapped her and spit on her, she was sure, not to survive the next minutes….

"Boudreaux? Where are you, you MORON? Have always to search for you!"

"I'm here. Heard shots. What—"

"This asshole let half of the hostages escape! Now YOU take care this bitch does not escape, too! – And give me the phone! Wanna know why the fuck Marco does not call!"

Chance Boudreaux had the distinct feeling to know the reason, but it would not be wise throwing more oil on Harrington's fire! He started musing about the possibilities to get out of this crap alive, and free. The odds seemed rather small at the moment. He had been an idiot to let Harrington talk him into this! Taking revenge on Van Cleaf was not that alluring anymore… Not if he had to go down into the same filth as HE! While Harrington left again, Boudreaux glanced at the crying woman huddling on the ground. _Shit! What do I do here? I'm not out to torture women and children, for fuck's sake!_

**=== Puerto Soro / Near Malverde Crossing ===**

Three police cars encircled the battered empty car which had been stolen half an hour ago at the bus station. Detective Agostin tore his hair. No sign of their target!

"This is simply unbelievable!"

"He has still to be in the area, Sir," said one of the other officers, obviously angry about their performance at the bus station, too. "And the roads are blocked. He can't vanish into thin air."

Agostin snorted. "I HOPE so!" There was nothing the Puerto-Soro-'Pitbull' hated more than prey slipping through after he already was at nose's length with it!

While his men begun with the check up of the area - some untended green-spaces, houses, gardens around the road crossing - a helicopter moved graciously in a wide bow over them.

**=== Up in the Chopper ===**

_This had been more luck than I thought a man could handle_, I said to myself. Down below, the search party was under way. I was slipped through in the very last second, ruining my cloths completely in fleeing through the thorny bushes of the green space near the road. My injured side hurt. In my leg with the artificial knee cap drilled a nasty pain, too. This had probably been way too much for this piece of surgical art!

Well, all this was nothing serious, and at the moment, I sat comfortably in the chopper and had not to move my legs! So – no waste of resources and brain cells in thinking more about this! I had to focus on the rescue of my family… Sadly, I had sacrificed my 'Glock 19' during the little scheme in the bus station! The police gun I had taken was not an adequate substitute. I still had my 'Desert Eagle' in the shoulder belt under the jacket. Nonetheless, I felt very poorly equipped for the venture I was about to undertake! How I wished to have my sniper rifle! But all my weaponry was in my Rover, which stood peacefully at the Puerto Soro bus station! To be honest, I felt nearly naked. Anyway, there was no other option right now!

"Hey, man, what is this all about?" My pilot turned to me, smiling. "You look like it was a pretty rough party, eh!"

"It will be much rougher the rest of the night…" I smiled, too.

"I hope this is nothing… uhm… you know, illegal, Sir?"

"You don't really expect a man paying you half a million Dollar for a flight to answer this question, do you?" He fell silent, and I asked instead: "How far are we from the destination?"

**=== Near Puerto Soro / Abandoned Farmhouse ===**

Harrington marched across the weed-filled old terrace of the abandoned house, boiling with rage. Because he could not reach his man sent to Puerto Soro bus station, he was now about to dial Van Cleaf's number again.

"What does this scumbag think?" he murmured in between. "That he can play with me? That I must not be taken serious? Oh, I SHOW you how serious I can be, Van Cleaf! I'll get you! I'll get you and your fucking money!" The cell phone's screen flashed to a light blue. Connection was established!

"… Van Cleaf, do you HEAR ME?"

'_Loud and clear, Harrington. I suppose there was a slight problem with the money transfer? Or why do you call?'_

Harrington would have loved to smash the phone on the ground. He HATED this man, he HATED this voice! And he HATED the sound of choppers bouncing in his head! "Van Cleaf! Either I get the money or your wife dies! Did you get this? Answer!"

'_Yes__.'_

"You have two hours! And I don't the fuck care HOW you manage it! … Fucking chopper up there!... – Do you LISTEN? Two hours, or your whore is DEAD!"

'_I don't think so…'_

Unnerved from the noise of the helicopter growing even more intense, Harrington lowered the phone and looked up.

…

Me and the barrel of my gun was the last thing he saw… _You have died far too quickly, bastard! _I would've preferred torturing him to death slowly… but well, one could not have all the bonuses in one night!


	9. Decisions besides the abyss

**=== Near the abandoned Farmhouse ===**

Chance Boudreaux heard the single shot. Hastily, he took the gun from the dead Luis in surplus to his own and was at the door the very next moment. Still covered by the nightly shadow inside, he saw his personal nightmarish déjà-vu. A chopper, hovering some meters above the ground, and in the open hatch Van Cleaf. In his hands the weapon, which just had killed Harrington. He had a smile on his face! A god-damned, ice-cold smile!

It was exactly this facial expression, which pushed Boudreaux over the barriers of reason. This man had killed all the others - now HE would draw the line! He had forgotten everything else, his own doubts, the nasty kidnapping, the frightened woman inside the house. There was only Boudreaux and Van Cleaf, and a bill open for 15 years now! He brought his rifle in position and fired.

…

The bullet smashed against the helicopter, missing me only because I had moved in exactly that moment. The pilot cursed violently, tried to get the chopper up as quickly as possible. Luckily, he did not panic and thus endangered us both! I attempted to spot my opponent and fire on him. I saw someone moving next to the door, but failed to lock on. _Shit!_ The weapons I had at my disposal this night were simply the wrong ones!

"Get me down over there!" I shouted in order to drown the noise of the chopper.

The pilot turned. I discovered a man down below, running for cover. But no, I would not shoot right now. I had not enough ammo for blind-firing. I needed the target in focus!

_Real shit! Everything at stake, and I have not the right equipment!_

How many of Harrington's bunch were still alive? If he had not lied to me in the first place, it could only be two, perhaps three. But then, more shots would've answered my kill of Harrington… Two, then, supposedly. And my old friend Boudreaux among them!

The helicopter landed near the cliff, which cut the plain the old house stood in into half. It was a wild, rough area – perfect to let some unpleasant evidence vanish. But for these musings, it was too early! I turned to the pilot. Even in the artificial lights of the chopper, I could see he was really pale. I handed him over the prepared check.

"500.000 Dollar, as arranged."

He grabbed it nervously – probably thinking I would kill him if he did – and only then managed an uneasy "Thank you… Sir."

"I have not to mention, you have not seen or heard anything this night. Especially you have not seen ME, right?"

"Of course, Sir." He stuffed the check into his jacket's pocket.

I left the chopper, my 'Desert Eagle' ready to fire, if necessary, and took cover behind an overgrown hedge. In doing this, I realized that not only my weapons collection was inadequate for the task, but the state of my leg, too.

_So what, looks as if you're getting too old for this kind of business, eh?_I mocked myself, while the helicopter flew out of range. Whatever – it was not up to me to make a choice! I had to hold on; I had to succeed! Forcing all superfluous thoughts at the margin of my conscience, I sneaked forward to the house again. Somewhere in between the half crumbled remains, the unkempt ex-garden and the rocks the enemy was closing in on me…

A shot! Smashing through the dried branches of the hedge. I dove down on the ground. Between the sheets of the half-rotten fence and the wall of the house I could now discern a man. Boudreaux ! The patterns of his movements had been imprinted in my memory very well. I could not clearly see his face because of the darkness and the branches. But there was no need for it; I was sure. Another shot! Dammit, he had a flashlight! I rolled over, behind the remains of the fence and fired. Of course I missed – with this kind of weapon under these lighting conditions it was a pure game of hazard! Anyway, I was out of his sight, too. The springing-up wind, which let some debris roll over the area, provided me with enough noise-cover for sneaking further. Unfortunately the last bit of natural light was gone, when a cloud wrapped the half moon. And of course I could not hear Boudreaux, either.

Waiting.

Silently, I counted the bullets I had left. 4 in the stolen police gun, 7 in my 'Desert Eagle' and another fresh refill with 9. Was Boudreaux the only one still alive from Harrington's gang? I had not heard him talking to somebody the whole time of our little match; and I had not seen nor heard a second opponent. This could mean he was alone. But it only COULD. Still, another motherfucker could hide inside the house, holding my family hostage!

A thin line of light groped through a slid in the fence. I waited another second, then I broke the worn out wood down with one arm and fired in the direction of the light. Someone moaned. I shot again, tried to move as fast as I could to the next cover. The shots of my enemy followed me all too close, splashing dirt and debris in my back. Wherever I might have grazed him – it was obviously not enough to slow the prey down! I threw the empty police gun away, cowering down behind the next cover. I was closer to the house now, and the moon was free from the cloud. But more clouds were under way, and it started to rain. In some meters' distance, I could discern the body of Harrington.

_Ah, yes, next to him his weapon! What a wonderful sight!_

I had to get it – it might provide the necessary ammo for my survival. Cautiously, I moved forward, but froze immediately, when I heard my opponent's steps right behind me. Swirling around and firing again, I realized another thing. His flashlight was gone. Seemed I had taken it out…

"Van Cleaf, this time I get you! And I'll shoot your sick brain out of your head!" Boudreaux shouted. "When I have to go to jail again, THIS TIME I'll know why!"

…

Inside the house, Rosa pressed her face against the closed door. Pik! In the very last moment she could restrain from yelling his name. This would only distract him and risk his life! She clenched her hands tightly. All her exhaustion was gone. Her mind and her heart raced. Outside were her beloved husband – and his long-term nightmare of enemy! Pik had told her long ago about the events back in New Orleans then, after which she had encountered him half-dead on the way to Mexico. This horrible day had left visible and invisible scars on both of them…

And now… now it took place all over again? And Rosa was unable to do anything useful. Boudreaux had closed her in. Even if she could get out of a window; she had no weapon. And thus she would in fact only be one thing: a possible deadly distraction. She sank to her knees, hands put against the wooden door. The awful sounds from the fight echoed painful in her ears.

…

No way to get even near Harrington's gun! Boudreaux blocked the way. For now, he did not know exactly behind which piece of rotten junk I was hiding. But I had no chance to cross the open space, pick the gun up and dive into cover again without being wounded at least. I had lost too much precious ammo during the past minutes! The refill-pack was already in place, and one bullet from it gone, too. The rain was getting stronger. Real bad timing for a cloudburst! Shooting with cold, wet fingers around the trigger was one of the worst things imaginable!

I heard something nearby, thought to perceive a movement, too. Yes, there he was! I could see his light-colored shirt by now! _Very good…_ I crawled forward. _A little more light would be of much help! _Boudreaux leaned against the wall of the old stable. Above him the remains of the roof, clattering and squeaking in the wind. I had to get him down, by some means or other! Decidedly, I took aim and fired.

An angry cry; bursting wood; loud cursing. A shot in my direction. I fired again at the source. The pile of wood and rotten straw some meters in front of me moved, parted, and Boudreaux struggled free, shooting again. _Fucking shit! _I got to my feet as fast as I could, my weapon still ready to fire.

A moment later, we stood face to face, each of us pointing at the opponent's head.

"Very well," Boudreaux said with a short half grin. "Only the two of us left! You and I – again!"

"It's not you and me," I answered. "It is you on the one side, and I and my family on the other. Where are they? Where's my wife?"

"You did the fuck care about families, when you hunted down the people back in New Orleans or ELSEWEHRE! Just a hilarious little hunt, right?"

"We picked singles without family."

"And this makes it totally less evil, or what?"

I could see a desperate rage in his eyes. He finally wanted his revenge – just for revenge's sake! The problem was I was not free from such unprofessional emotions and thoughts, either. "Such a concern from a man, who kidnapped a woman and four little children? I just could cry!"

"This was not planned. Harrington wanted you and no one else!"

"Aw… but this little change of plans did not make you quit his service, Boudreaux, right?" No answer, only a dark scowl. I continued: "If this would only be about me, this would've been over by now! I don't particularly like making smalltalk to you. But I have five kids, and they shouldn't grow up as orphans."

"Ahh, that's it! You beg for your life? Never thought to hear that one day, Van Cleaf!"

"I don't beg." I had him still in focus, and my finger began feeling stiff around the trigger. But he didn't move a bit, too. Two gun barrels, two deadly black holes. Rain smashed in our faces. "I offer you a deal."

"A deal with you?" Boudreaux spit out. "I waited for this opportunity long enough!"

The blood hammered behind my temples. It was all or nothing. Death or life – no other option. "And then? You kill me. Fine! You can congratulate yourself when sitting in jail again, or on the streets begging. I offer you a life. A decent life."

"Go to FUCKING HELL!"

He pulled the trigger, and so did I.

Nothing happened. Both our guns were empty!

"… but not yet!" I whispered with a little smile while lunging against Boudreaux. We rolled over the grass, junks and rocks, clutched, wedged, mobilising our last strength to knock each other out.

…

Rosa kneeled still behind the door, tried to perceive what was happening and yet was afraid to listen. But Boudreaux' last angry yell was the one thing she could not endure. She jumped up, grabbed the leg of an old broken chair and smashed it in the window glass. "Pik?" There was only a terrible silence around.

…

Chance Boudreaux was a bit stronger than me, and his manoeuvrability was better. After one unfortunate blow, I stumbled backwards against the cliff, lost ground on the gravel and slid. Instinctively, I reached out, got hold on some roots and a slippery stone. My feet kicked in empty space.

_So, this was it then… Fuck it! … Gotta see Boudreaux grinning in my last moment!_ I slid further.

I heard Rosa shouting my name. But here was no way holding on. _Finally death has caught me in his trap! … Rosa… Have an eye on Gerrit… He's too much like me… I love you… _I shut my eyes, loosing the grip on the stone. _I am sorry… _

When two hands grabbed my arm, my eyes snapped open. I couldn't believe what they showed me, though. Boudreaux. Hanging half over the cliff. Holding me!

"Got you!" he pressed through clenched teeth. "Hold on!"

I tried to get a foothold again, while he attempted to pull me up. It lasted only for a second, then the wet instable earth gave way again. Boudreaux snatched my jacket, but the fabric tore. "Take my hand, man! C'mon!"

He hauled me up again, and finally I could press my right foot into a little cavity. Some horrible seconds later Boudreaux and I kneeled on the plain again, gasping for air. And I had to admit, I still couldn't quite believe what just had happened…

"Why…?" I rasped.

"I'm no… killer."

Before I could say something, I saw Rosa running towards us. She had a gun in her hand; Harrington's I supposed, and just took aim at Boudreaux.

"Don't shoot!" I had the feeling, my last bit of strength went down the drain with these words. "Don't shoot… It's okay…"

A moment later she embraced me, unable to say anything. She simply cried and clutched onto me. And I don't know how long it took until I could speak again. "Where are the children?"

"I got them out… about an hour ago," Rosa answered. "Maartie was very sick. I sent them to the gas station; they should call an emergency ambulance! What about the others? Gerrit and Teresa? Are they okay?"

"They are with Carel, at his vacation home." I stood up; needing a little help from Rosa. However, the time for relaxation was not yet there! "The police are close on my heels; I managed to slip through their net in Puerto Soro only in the last moment! They shouldn't be aware of me being that far in the countryside, but…I don't want to tempt fate more than I already have tonight. I…" My gaze wandered over to Boudreaux, and I corrected: "We need to get out of here very fast!"

"There's a van behind the house, " he said. Exactly feeling as uneasy with this new 'situation' between the two of us, he walked towards the farm again. I followed closely, Rosa in my arm, and wondered, if I had done the same, if Boudreaux had been hanging there on the cliff. But I did not dare to probe down deep into my mind…

**=== Next day, Morning / At Carel's vacation home ===**

I counted it as a miracle that we all made it undisturbed back to Carel. _I must not only have one 'guardian-devil', but a whole little army_, I thought wryly. I was glad Rosa could not read my thoughts. I did not want to hurt her and her – sometimes very childish – religious views! Thoughts… They had been seldom that sinister. Despite our rescue, or maybe exactly because of it. I had not wanted to probe down deep into my mind what I would've done in Boudreaux' place. However, the knowledge had pierced my usual shell with recklessness. I would have let him fall. I was sure of it…

My gaze fell on Rosa, who sat at the couch and tried to reach the General Hospital of Puerto Soro. She smiled at me with so much love. _How on earth_, I wondered for the umpteenth time in our marriage_, how on earth could she choose ME?_

She put the receiver down for a moment. "They are there! The nurse is on her way to get Maria to the phone! Sam is sleeping…"

"And Maartie?" I barely dared to ask.

"He's okay…" Now Rosa cried despite all her effort not to do it in front of the other children. But she was simply too exhausted. "Holy Mother of God, thank you! He's okay… Our son is okay!"

I put my arms around her and took the receiver from her hands. "Maria? … Yes, it's Dad. How do you feel? … Tired, yes. Soon we are all home and you have time to relax!" _Home – wherever this might be, after our yacht is half destroyed…_ Maria, darling, I'm very proud of you! We all are! Do you hear me? … Don't cry. You saved your little brother's life last night."

She asked when we could pick her and the others up. I looked to Carel questioning, and he nodded. "Maria? Carel will pick you up in a couple of hours! You know Carel, my boss from the software enterprise? … Yes. He will come and fetch you all. … No, I cannot come, Darling. Have a little problem with my leg, you know. I cannot walk very well at the moment." For the first time, I was grateful to have this artificial kneecap. So I had not to lie plainly why I couldn't show up in the town. I glanced to Gerrit, who sat opposite to us, next to Teresa. Someday, it would be time to tell all my children, who their father was…

**Four days later, Puerto Soro, police station ===**

Detective Agostin browsed through the pictures of the crime scene – an old abandoned farm house, which had been incinerated, obviously to cover some tracks. He had secretly hoped to find a trace of the ominous Van Cleaf again. A man couldn't just vanish, could he? A man was a man and had to leave tracks. He was not a demon! But in looking at the pictures and the results from the forensics, his hopes crushed. Neither of these two charred bodies found inside the ruin was the remains of Pik van Cleaf. All bones of all fingers on all four hands were still clearly visible…

So this man had vanished indeed… eluded the police like he had done during the last 15 years. "Some day…" murmured Agostin and leaned back. "Some day you're making a mistake, smartass, and then, justice will get you!"

**=== Two years later ****/ Florida ===**

A martial-arts school and fitness centre at Florida Beach was one of the things already born with success. The people here were eager to show they were young, healthy and tanned – and therefore they were ready to invest considerable sums to achieve this. Moreover, the place was situated in a rather expensive area. Sometimes, the beautiful location with Asian flair was chosen for wedding parties as well.

Just as it was the case this evening. The host this time was no other than the owner himself, Chance Boudreaux. The people around here considered his business the fine example of a "self-built-fortune-by-hard-work". A typical American fairy tale! Which at this evening should be crowned by something every fairy tale was decorated with: a marriage to a most beautiful girl…

Chance and his new wife, a half-Japanese teacher from his martial-arts school, stood on the terrace talking to some of the party guests, when one of the waiters stepped to him.

"Mr. Boudreaux, excuse me, there is someone outside who wants to congratulate you."

"Someone I forgot to invite, I suppose?" He laughed. "Well, he or she shall just walk in and have some drinks and a good time!"

"He said he had not much time, but insisted in expressing his best wishes to you in person."

"Okay – shall no one hinder wishing me luck!" Chance embraced his wife, padded on the shoulder of the friend he was just talking to and walked to the gate. Inside, he was feeling colder with every step. It was this uneasiness; something was about to smash into his all-too-perfect personal luck… The past was a mean little thing…

He opened the metal gate of the enclosure and went outside. Some steps ahead waited a black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. Boudreaux sensed his bad feelings condense into an ugly lump in his stomach. In the next second, Adrenalin shot through his body, and he mentally prepared for a fight.

One last step. The gravel crunched.

Slowly, the window at the driver's seat lowered. Behind it, the face of a man with neatly trimmed beard and sunglasses appeared. Chance Boudreaux recognized him immediately, even before the familiar voice would have destroyed every doubt.

"Van Cleaf." He couldn't entirely suppress his dark musings.

"I see you have invested my money very good…"

"What do you want?"

"As I let relay…" He smiled. "Congratulate you."


End file.
